


The Colour Of Hope

by HiHereAmI



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - College, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, College AU, Dragon Klance Big Bang, Exchange program AU, Family Dynamics, Feelings, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, IM NOT EVEN JOKIN, Literature Student!Keith, Living in Argentina, M/M, Pining, Pining!Keith, Pining!Lance, Roadtrip, Shenanigans, Slow Burn, Teacher Student!Lance, Team as Family, World Travel, hella slow burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-22
Updated: 2018-11-08
Packaged: 2019-03-03 05:03:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 47,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13334070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HiHereAmI/pseuds/HiHereAmI
Summary: ''Do you know that feeling? When you are running against the wind, running for meters and meters, passing land, past, future and you can’t feel anything but the rush in every one of your muscles? That hot and cold feeling, mixed in an impossible oxymoron.That’s Lance.And Keith wants to keep running, away from everything, just to keep that feeling in that place, exactly where it is, in a crowded bar at wee hours of the morning on the other side of the world.''*An impulsive decision drives Keith away from the routine to study abroad in Argentina. Which would be cool, if not for the fact that Keith doesn't speak spanish and that'sexactlythe country's language.Then, he meets Lance.





	1. me verás caer

**Author's Note:**

> _This fic was written for the Dragon Klance Big Bang_
> 
> * * *
> 
> Well, hello! This has been in store for more than six months so I'm EXCITED AS HECK! 
> 
> Welcome to Argentina! I'm basically deconstructing all I know and feel about my culture and my country and writing it so, you dearest reader, can have a peek. There's a lot of spanish thrown in between _in italics_ but fear not! You might find the translation either in the character's voices or at the end notes!
> 
> I've got to admit, this fic was born because of ''Foreign Scenes'' by bwyn (now that i think about it maybe i should tell the author). There's a very specific moment in that fic that just striked me, where Lance and Keith find people speaking their native language in a bar after a month of travelling. Lance's find were ARGENTINIAN people and i fucking SCREAMED. I needed to show my country to you guys, I needed to make you feel like I felt reading this fic. I needed to take you here.   
> The title of the fic is based off Diego Torres's song ''Color Esperanza'' and it means a lot to me - personally- and to my family. There's also A LOT of meta in this story so keep an eye out! Each word was written with a purpose!
> 
> HUGE SHOUTOUT TO: MaraLuzy and meh12, who read the fic and gave me their insight and ver-ironica, my main beta and an essential person in this story's development. They've been rocks and they are wonderful and talented people! Check their work out!  
> Finally (but not less important), the beautiful artwork of chapter one was drawn by LittleLuckyAngel (as he presents on tumblr and ao3)! Thank you so so so much, Marin! I'm so glad we are a team!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from ''En La Ciudad De La Furia'' by Soda Stereo (a.k.a. gods of us all)

Keith doesn’t like the look the waiter is giving him.

The lights dance around him, infinite hues of red and blues, a green blur intermittent well across him, where the bar is. In his tired daze, he lets himself get swept up by the calmness of the light, the peacefulness between the chaos.

The place is crowded. People blazing, light illuminating their smiles; their enchanted, concentrated expressions; their casual, flirty talks. Then darkness involves them, and the faces change. People dancing to the beat of a music Keith doesn’t hear – thanks to the headphones stubbornly placed over his ears. He doesn’t need to listen, he doesn’t need anything more than another cup of coffee, and maybe an energy drink.

Then, in the midst of observing the red lights dancing over the lonely porcelain of the cup placed on his table, Keith notices that he’s unfocusing.

Right.

Sighing, he returns to his notebook. He chose the most illuminated table at the bar and he should be taking advantage of it! Even the waiter noticed his intentions and brought him a portable lamp; giving him a look that was something akin to pity. Or tiredness. Or annoyance. Eh, she just looks at him too much, it’s upsetting. The attention is upsetting, he needs peace, thank you very much.

He understands why, though.

Keith _knows_ the whole ordeal is kind of odd. Just picture it: a twenty-three year old foreign kid, who barely speaks spanish, stumbling over his words; trying to study in a crowded bar at 3 a.m. – in Argentina.

It is, after all, Shiro’s fault. He’s the one that got hung up on the student exchange program of their university.

Shiro was utterly charmed by the opportunity, the experience of studying in a foreign country, surrounded by a totally different language.

Keith was, at first, horrified. He was okay with his routine, his cyclic life, that came and went between fighting for his grades, hanging out with Shiro and doing extra hours at the bike repair shop.  

The pendule was fine by him, tic toc tic toc _tic toc_ , a motion that kept him breathing. And then... then he couldn’t let the idea out of his head, the intermittent _what if_ , the enchanting notion of starting over, living from scratch without wasting all the effort that led him where he was. The thought haunted him, crawled through the blank spaces in his memory and pushed him into Shiro’s apartment on a Wednesday midnight. He had kicked down the door, startled a caffeine awake Shiro who couldn’t say anything about the subject because Keith was already shouting.

“SHIRO! I’ll sign up to the exchange program!” His friend merely raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.

“Will you still be sure about this in the morning?” he asked. A nod in response. He didn’t question if Keith had done it because of him.

Thankfully, both of them knew the boy better than that.

A blur of paperwork, luggage, teachers and clocks ticking and he was watching a white sea of clouds from an unimaginable altitude.

A rush of fresh air and airports, he was there. Fourteen hours, ten thousand kilometres and a whole language barrier away from the place he had always been.

It was at the crowded Ezeiza airport of Buenos Aires when Keith realized with horror a significant detail he had completely forgot about until someone asked him for the bathroom.

The _spanish_. A whole different language he doesn’t have a drop of knowledge of.  

He understands Shiro’s raised eyebrow now.

 

He stares hard at the paper and spanish stares back at him, twice as harder.

When he admitted to Shiro his lack of the appropriate language in the whole “living in Argentina for a year” situation, his friend threw a travel dictionary at his face.

While wheezing with laughter.

Shiro is definitely a little shit.

He hasn’t managed to pick up that much because the little book doesn’t explain how to sort out the fast fired way argentinians knit spanish, with a force in their r’s , a deepness in their y’s and a long whistle while talking in s’s. Nor does the book translate these strange words that have a meaning to everyone but Keith. These… terms are thrown around by argentinians so lightly but every time he tries to remember them, their significance is confusing or simply nonexistent.

He’s stubborn, though, getting through the tricky currents of argentinian spanish and the first weeks of his semester studying abroad in Buenos Aires.

He shares a room with Shiro in a _pensión_ \- that’s how they call boarding houses here -  until they can sort out a proper accommodation, they travel alongside each other to the university (something that helps him to, you know, not getting lost in a foreign city) and he managed to grasp most of the concept imparted on his classes.

Yes, Keith Kogane is damn stubborn and can get through.

Until now, at least.

When he  forgot his keys and he couldn’t bring himself to communicate properly with the porter of the _pensión_ so he could enter the room.

Also, because that’s just his luck, he couldn’t call Shiro because it was his first day of work at a night school. On the other side of the city.

So that’s how he ended up on the closest open place that serves coffee at 3 a.m. (that happens to be a _bar_ , of all things) , with a pile of homework he has to do and little to none grasp of the language needed to even _ask_ for that coffee.

At least the word - _café_ \- is  similar and easy to spot on the menu.

Though he still doesn’t get what a _cortado*_  is...

The word means “cut” - which makes zero sense of why it alone is on the coffee section!  Why would someone want to be cut? Does it have something to do with _stabbing_ ?! Maybe argentinians just, stab their coffee grains instead of processing them! _Maybe they use special knives for that!_

He makes a mental note of looking for that kind of knives around. If _cortados_ are written everywhere, their special knives must be everywhere too!

Oh.

Yeah.

The assignment.

He needs to get that done. Now. His music is in place, his notebook doesn’t have an inch of stale ink, he has all his pencils sharpened and all his pens complete and his notebook is fully charged. He should be okay. Yes. He’s ready. Everything’s ready and —

Is someone talking to him? He looks up, snaps out of his trance by instinct and his eye catches - someone. Dimly illuminated by the colourful lights, bathed by the soft glowing of the portable lamp, there’s a boy before him. Dressed in electric blues - a clear frame contrasting with the dull dark background of bodies intertwined.

Face - sharp chin, sharp nose, dark brown skin, dark brown hair - twisted in an unreadable expression that reminds Keith that yes, this someone is talking and he can’t hear a single thing.

He snatches his headphones out of his ears with irritation.

 

 

 

 

 

 

<https://little-lucky-angel.tumblr.com/post/170011098949/little-lucky-angel-whoooooo-at-long-last>

 

“What?” he asks as blunt as he can. Maybe - he thinks with a bittersweet feeling - if he talks in english with no care, the stranger will be quicker to leave him alone to study in peace. That is a tactic that had been successful so far. Although, instead, the boy stays. And gapes.

Then, out of that mouth that was open, Keith hears the very last thing he was expecting that night

“Holy freaking cheese. You aren’t from here either” then his face brightens up so suddenly that the student can’t help but remember that time he sneaked out from curfew to see the fireworks, the night still and dotted with stars until the exploding lights had gotten so beautiful, so full, so _much_ it blinded all of his senses.

The boy extends his hand so earnestly that Keith seriously feels a little bad of his little snap. Maybe, maybe, maybe he isn’t alone on all of this debacle. It’s also a little unnerving because, that was a _stranger_.

“Name’s Lance” the boy presents himself. His hand is still hanging - now a little awkwardly. The smile falters and Keith remembers just in time that , yeah, he’s probably expecting him to shake it. Duh.

“I’m… Keith” the answer comes out dubiously, while he shakes the hand - long, soft fingers, clear, long nails; a total opposite of his, bitten nails and dry pale skin. It’s more of a bump, honestly. A mere touch.

“Right! So..” Lance retrieves his hand “What the _hell_ are you doing studying at a bar at 3 a.m. , dude?”

God.

Seriously?

“Seriously?” he says. Yup. He hit his daily limit.

“Yeah, man. Because it’s _seriously_ not the place to check out ” he squints at Keith’s papers “Pichon Riviere’ s social psychology theory and its effects in the modern world and its subjects”  

“What the fuck.” he snatches the papers from Lance “Don’t take my notes!”

“Woah, man. Chill” the boy raises his arms “Just asking”

“Not your business. What are _you_ even doing here?”

“In Argentina? Well, it is a funny story! See…”

“No!”  he shouts in frustration “in this bar! In this table! At 3 a.m. !”

Lance regards him like he was some _freaking_ cat with a freaking _tantrum_.

“ Weeeell… I wanted to go out, make a few memories, meet a few babes, you see, there’s my buddy Pidge but she had this huge assignment over which she was snatching her hair off, no kidding. So yeah, that was out. And there’s my best bro Hunk! But when I peered he was at the kitchen baking cookies. “ he makes a face and proceeds to talk with his hands. Keith wonders if he realized he’s occupying eight times as space like that. He doesn’t seem to mind.

“And when Hunk bakes cookies! Hooo boy! Things are bad! So yeah, Hunk was stress baking so he was a no-no, too! Then I told myself: Well, Lance, you can go alone, you can meet people and charm them like you always do!  So… I came here! I saw you scowling at … ” he motioned the whole table “this and … you heard me”

Keith frowns

“Oh, you meant what you said at first? I didn’t hear you, because of the headphones. Did you say something important?”

Lance stills, looking at him with his eyes wide. Then, his mouth opens and he blurts.

“ Nup! Yup! That was all the story! I’m here! Nothing else!”

The last part sounded weird. Now Lance is looking elsewhere but him. Did he felt he overshared ? Did Keith prompt him to overshare? The boy did it all on his own. But maybe he  felt judged or said more about him that he wanted to a total stranger. Keith knows the feeling. He knows very well what  embarrassment does and maybe that’s why the other boy is blushing.

Impulse does that to a person.

“I’m here because I got locked out and my roommate isn’t home until very late” he talks before realizing it and, there it is, the relief crossing Lance’s face, washing the embarrassment away, making his eyes lighten up with amusement, the pink tint staying on the brown skin, though, like it belonged there . Keith feels like he said a good thing and a proud fire warms his chest.

And then the jerk laughs.

Openly.

About Keith’s disgraceful odyssey.

Scratch everything he thought, that was obnoxious, burn this place down, burn his freaking _pensión_ ’s room down so he can just go and sleep and hide from that laughter because what the _fuck, he’s living a tragedy._

“You lost your apartment's keys? Really? ” he’s still laughing “ Dude, that’s like number one rule of being a tourist: Don’t lose your keys”

“I don’t live in an apartment. I live in a _pensión_ ”

Laughter stops.

“A _pensión_?”

“Yes.”

“Like, an hostal room? With a porter, someone who stays awake at night to open the front door?”

“Yes. You have a problem with it? What’s your point?”

Silence.

“Dude”

“What.”

“ _Dude_ ”

“...What.”

Lance’s pupils are blown wide.

“You could have, y’know…?”

Keith doesn't answer, just motions him with his hand to continue.

“Talk to the porter?”

Keith doesn’t open his mouth nor he makes any motions. He just looks elsewhere.

Mumbles.

“Again, please?”

“The porter doesn’t speak english”

“Yeah. I totally get it. Like, as more than half of the worldwide population but… they probably talk spanish, don’t they?”

When he receives no response, his face gets softer. Out of nowhere, he drops out the teasing.

“Keith, buddy. Did you try talking to them in spanish?”

And he makes the mistake of looking back. They lock eyes.

“No”

Deep breath.

“I don’t speak spanish”

Silence.

More silence.

The crowd starts shouting a song with unrecognizable lyrics.

Even more silence.

Someone on a far table breaks a glass. The shattering sound a mere pin dropping between the noise.

Silence between them stretches.

Lance’s face breaks in a grin.

Keith’s does, too. A little more contained.

They burst out laughing.

And then they can’t stop. The laughter bubbles in him, fizzy and malleable. It’s like drinking soda and then jumping - he was nineteen and Shiro had dared him after seeing a vine like that - it’s the feeling that hiccupps inside him. Laughter laughter laughter. Because, good lord, everything is so bizarre and it _is_ _hilarious_

“I-I-I cant beli-e...believe Y-y-you!” Lance manages to splutter “Who  the _fuck_ goes to a spanish talking country without knowing a single bit of the _language_!?” his voice cracks at the end and the noise is so resembling of a dying chicken that it makes Keith choke on his own saliva. Which only makes Lance lose it even more.

“And… you!? How did you manage to master spanish, smartass!?” he says when he regains a little bit of composure. Lance sobers up instantly and then it feels like a dare. Competition glints in his eyes. He puffs his chest proudly ( _like a chicken_ , again, oh my god, he can’t contain a giggle at that, it’s so stupid).

“Me!? I’m a latino _purasangre_ !” he makes a little mocking floritude with his hands, like telling Keith to bow under his spanish heritage “ I’m from Cuba!” he deflates a little “Well, my family is. I was raised in the United Stated but my home is in Varadero, _la linda_ , where heaven touches earth!”

Keith just raises his eyebrows. He can’t raise just one at that kind of statement.

“Are you trying to prove some kind of point throwing spanish between your sentences or…?” he asks, face mockingly neutral.

“How dare you!?” Lance brings a hand to his chest in mock indignation. And then he literally _squeaks_ , why the heck is he insisting on keep acting like a bird.

“I’ll let you know that my spanish is spotless! Spotless! I could teach you a lesson and kick your ass every single day!” his hand is illustrating the point, raised high in demonstration. Then he smiles widely, wickedly  “Actually…”

Keith feels like that is a nice time to bring his defenses up.

“I dare you I could teach you some spanish and make you get through with that assignment”

His mouth opens in both horror and genuine surprise.

“No way”

“Yes, I know. I’m amazing and selfless like that. “ the boy starts mock bowing at an imaginary crowd.

“I dare you you can’t do it” Keith blurts out. And there it is again, that rush of adrenaline crossing them both, filling him with a spark of _competition_.

The same thing seemingly is happening to Lance because he smiles so knowingly that from a split second, Keith thinks he  made a horrible, horrible mistake.

“Oh, really? So you think you can’t do it? If you insist you suck so much at it then…maybe you can’t handle this...”

He starts turning around then, arms up in resignation.

“Wait!”

The latino looks back at him. He has his face neutral but there is a glint of… something… shining in his eyes. Amusement, maybe? It sparks a feeling in him, like nothing, like everything.

“ _I can handle this_ ” he states, determined.

Silence.

Lance’s face glows and, in a blur, he have taken a chair, promptly sat besides Keith, taken the text for the assignment and is already prepared to read it together.

And it is _nice, actually._ Lance is patient, he listens and don’t tease him for not knowing. He teases him about absolutely everything else, he teases the theory, he teases every single name mentioned, he makes puns about psychology terminologies all while explaining them but never once mocks his student’s mistakes or misunderstandings . And Keith explains back, firing away clever comments with ease, riling him up. They take each other back and forth. They push and pull with a lightness that feels enchanting, fresh, strange and infinitely familiar.

Do you know that feeling? When you are running against the wind, running for metres and metres, passing land, past, future and you can’t feel anything but the rush in every one of your muscles? When everything aches and relieves, once and again, when you are sweating from exertion but also freshened up by the movement, by the wind howling in your ears? That hot and cold feeling, mixed in an impossible oxymoron?

That’s Lance.

And Keith wants to keep running, away from everything, just to keep that feeling in that place, exactly where it is, in a crowded bar at wee hours of the morning on the other side of the world.

_Just here._

 

But, yeah, in Keith’s experience, nice things don’t last much. People go away, drunk drivers crash against innocent people, war exists and night bars have to close eventually.

And that’s how, out of nowhere, all lights go in and the room gets illuminated, blinding Keith’s eyes -  already accustomed to darkness.

He rubs them and starts doing his after-study routine. He moves his shoulders, stretches upwards to dissolve the uncomfortable feeling for being too much time sitting, he massages a little his aching neck and absent-mindedly pulls his black hair out of the untidy ponytail.

And his routine is rudely interrupted by Lance’s loud shriek.

“What’s going on with you?” he spits without feeling in the guy’s direction. God, he’s tired. They  did a good job, the assignment barely needs to be edited for typos but it’s decent and a lot of things make _sense_ now.

Yeah, he still doesn’t know spanish but he’s on the right track now and it’s all thanks to Lance.

Talking of which, is still screaming and now he bolted up from his seat and is pointing at him.

“What’s going on? I didn’t steal your pencil, geez. I swear.” Keith says

No response.

And.

“Y-you?!”

“Yes?”

“Y-You!?”

“Yes…? Me…?”

They stare at each other. The accusing finger is trembling.

“Mullet!” Lance blurts out. Keith takes his time processing what he said. Is he talking about...his hair? What’s the problem with his hair?

He touches the ends of it, feeling a little exposed and defensive at the same time.

“What’s the problem with my hair?”

“What’s the…!? Everything! Mullet! You are Mullet!?” he spits the last word with indignation. There’s this expression in his face, something that tells Keith that something is really really wrong. “I can’t believe this! Mullet! Of course I didn’t realize…! It was so dark! But that’s my luck! You just _have_ to be _Keith Kogane_!”

It’s like some kind of weight has been dropped.

Keith hears the thud and reacts.

“How do you know my last name!?”

Lance seems to have heard it too.

“How do I…!?”

Silence.

“We… I’m! We go to the same class! _At college!?_ ”

“I..”

“Name’s Espinosa!? Lance Espinosa!? We’re _rivals_!?”

“I…”

“Lance and Keith, neck at neck for the highest note!?”

“I don’t remember you”

Silence.

Keith feels like he made a mistake but it’s the truth. He doesn’t pay attention to his classmates, he always focuses on other things. It isn’t his intention to offend anyone but here he is, the offended one in front of him.

Lance’s shoulders drop.

“Unbelievable”

“I’m sorry” He means it. He _so_ means it. This sensation… he fucked it up, didn’t he? He doesn’t want it to be this way.

“It’s okay”

It’s not. Lance isn’t meeting his eyes, somehow shying out of his gaze.

Shame and guilt give in to fury and Keith is starting to get pissed off.

Is it worth it? He doesn’t remember that they were classmates. That’s it.  And they have just passed together a nice evening! God, Lance really helped him! They _bonded_!

“Is it really that important?” he asks, trying to distract the fury growing inside him by stuffing violently his stuff on the cramped black backpack.

“You ask…?” Lance voice picks up dangerously. And then it explodes. He should have seen it coming. The tide always pulls back silently before the ocean collides against the shore, destroying everything in its path.

“You ask if it’s important!?” he pokes at Keith’s chest “Like you were -” Poke. “More - “ Poke “Than everything!”

“Stop poking me!” He tries to shoo the arm away from his chest. The boy doesn’t stop.

“Oh, so you don’t like it, Kogane?” Poke again “Are you more mature than this? Can’t you take a little _poke_!? “ He exemplifies with a final one

He snaps. There’s a fury growing inside of it, one that he hadn’t felt in a while. Because time has passed since things were unfair to him, since he was judged and picked on, since he was worthy -just for being himself- of someone’s despair. Just a spark can make the world burn alive. The familiar flames ignite. “Stop it! You are insufferable!” he spits out, the raw need to shout back, to defend himself. The flames consume him

“Oooooh!” Lance hollers and there’s a marble stillness in the heat of his fury, one unsettlingly cold “ _YOU_ are insufferable!”

“I’m not!”

“Are too!”

“Stop it!”

“Be a man, _Keith_!” he spits his name like it’s a curse and Keith himself feels its charm, pushing him down to the dephts of a fight as endless as the ocean. “Take a little poke!”

“You know what!?” they are forehead against forehead. Keith’s fury is combusting inside his eyes, he knows it, while all he can see is Lance’s icy glare. God, it’s too much.

“What!?”

It’s _too much_.

“I’m out of here!”

“Fine! Good for me! Then I don’t have to stand you here anymore!”

“Fine!”

“FINE!”

Keith snatches his backpack and stomps to the exit. Then he remembers to to pay and strolls back to the table, by which Lance is still standing, face strangely unreadable.

He leaves the money on the table and steals a glance at the boy.

The light illuminates him completely, head to toe. He’s tall and lean but his posture is cautelous, like tiptoeing around a danger. His face is long and - if the hours they had been side by side accounted for something - it could be endearingly  expressive. There’s something about watching him in full light, the contrast with that figure dimly glowing in between the darkness , that makes Keith alarmed under his skin. _Who is he even looking at?_

Maybe if he says something, he can dissipate the tension.

_Maybe if he says the right thing._

He opens his mouth

Lance is pointedly looking elsewhere. He can see it in the tension of his broad shoulders, in the clenched jaw.

But Keith isn’t known for saying the right thing.

He closes his mouth.

And then the doorbell is chiming behind him and he’s out of the bar, away from Lance and his thoughts and the unresolvable oxymoron.

He’s out, the still night turning to the furious reds and blues of dawn.

He’s out, with only the cold argentinian air for company. But, despite the oxygen filling his lungs, Keith can’t shake the feeling that he has started drowning.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Language notes:
> 
>  _cortado_ : type of coffee pretty common in Argentina, Latin America and Spain. It's an espresso "cut" with a small amount of warm milk to reduce It also means ''cut'' in spanish, hence Keith's confusion.
> 
>  _pensión_ : usually cheap private house where you can pay to stay and receive meals. Often used as a temporary location in the cities by students and immigrants.
> 
> aaaaaaaaa so here we go!! I'm not giving up on this story for nothing in the world so expect updates!!  
> What did you think? Please please _please_ tell me your opinion in the comments! Analise it! Tear it down! Don't be shy! I'll probably cry because I made some impact on you!  <3 thank you so much for reading!!!
> 
> **REBLOG ANGEL'S ART FROM[HERE](https://little-lucky-angel.tumblr.com/post/170011098949/little-lucky-angel-whoooooo-at-long-last)**
> 
>  [''The Colour Of Hope'' fic playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/aimeejene/playlist/67C1F04nlS1PvjdtjrwKxK?si=NzXitvdZSoWQxSzqTsk1WQ)


	2. caminando, caminandote

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pidge, Hunk and Lance visit _el Obelisco_. Or, as Lance insists to call it, The Giant Penis. Shenanigans ensue.
> 
> a.k.a. ''I can't believe we were just toured by a furry in the middle of Buenos Aires''
> 
> (use google, kids)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from ''Costumbres Argentinas'' by Los Abuelos de La Nada

“So this monument would be… a giant penis? ” Lance asks, hands stretched over his forehead to cover the blinding sunlight  so he can see the over 70 metres high…  _ structure _ towering above them.

Pidge - with a silly green cap and her glasses perched over her furrowed nose - checks her phone and starts reciting.

“ ‘The  _ Obelisco _ of Buenos Aires -  that means, Obelisk of Buenos Aires -  is a national historic monument and icon of Buenos Aires. Located in the  _ Plaza de la República  _ in the intersection of avenues Corrientes and 9 de Julio, it was erected in 1936 to commemorate the fourth centenary of the first foundation of the city.’ That’s Wikipedia. Nope. It doesn’t say anything about giant penises” 

Lance huffs at her answer, reluctant to believe it, and looks around.

And man, isn’t that a whole awful lot of people.  _ El Obelisco _ is - just as Wikipedia puts it -  inserted in between avenues. Big, crowdy, long avenues. Multicolored buses honk protests at each other and cars answer with the same grace, expecting the noise to accelerate the traffic. It’s the busiest hour in the busiest avenue of all Buenos Aires and people come and go in plain light, their faces diffused by their rapid steps. 

The buildings surrounding them are a mixture between modern and kinda old, lots of cafés, big led screens and the giant portrait of a lady perched from a big departament complex.

How do you describe a place you are seeing for the first time? 

The sunlight bathes everything and Lance can’t help but to stare at all this people’s faces. Are they going home? Are they in their way to work or school? Who waits for them at home? Does that man over there have a little baby that needed to be fed? Does these woman take care of her oldest, terribly ill, unable to work? Do those kids know about something that everyone called love? Or do they only knew it in their parent’s embrace?

The city is on fire. The mid-april heat shouldn’t have been so, summer-like. Yes, yes. April means autumn here and you can see it in all the trees, numerous trees on both sidewalks each side of the  _ Avenida 9 de Julio _ . 

“Lance!” Hunk snaps him out of his daze. He’s charming as always, a big guy - as he affectionately calls him- with a huge heart and an enormous kindness. 

“Yeah? What’s going on?” 

“You are going to get robbed if you keep on being that distracted, that’s what’s going on.” deadpans Pidge.

“Nu-uh. Only tourists get robbed. We are not tourists, we are students”

“Who are not from here. So for now, pay attention to your things.”

“pay attention to your things” bravely mocks her Lance. Quietly. Yeah. Bravely. Before Pidge can ask him what he said, he questions:

“So is this a giant penis or not? Because a classmate at the uni told me it was!” 

Hunk, who is going on a big tourist handbook he bought who-knows-where, raises a finger to shush both Lance - who is starting to chant _ giant penis _ , in a very creepy imitation of the original steven universe song  and to calm Pidge - who is starting to screech in despair.

“Okay! I think I cracked the code!” he exclaims, book dangerously balancing in one of his hands. 

“Uh. Buddy, nah. I think what cracked it was-  “ starts saying Lance. Hunk motions at him.

“Don’t finish that sentence. I know it’s pervy. Don’t finish it.” he orders, finger pointing accusingly.

“Ugh” Pidge adds, scrunching her face up.

Hunk watches them both, finger still raised and when he thinks the crisis has been averted, he clears his throat and starts reading.

“Okay. Here it says Obelisks in general are based on Egyptian Obelisks, that honored the  male gods that represented the sun, the fertility and blah. This one in particular alludes to Osiris’s legend: he was a god or a king? That I can’t understand. Okay, the point is that he was killed and his penis was chopped off…” All of them make a face. Hunk stops reading, looks up at the monument like it was Osiris’s in flesh staring down at him and then looks back and continues his explanation.

“So his wife repeatedly built this monument in his honor to compensate. Egyptians believed those monuments brought fertility and good crops season”

They stare at each other in  silence.

Lance opens his mouth.

“So..”

Pidge looks at him in horror.

“No.”

Lance’s grins and takes air in.

Hunk know that - if they didn’t before-  they are going to attract attention right now.

3

2

1

“IT’S A GIANT PENIS, PIDGE! SUCK IT UP!”

“Oh, I  _ sure _ don’t suck ‘em. You, on the other hand -  “ She states but is interrupted by Hunk’s hand in her mouth, his face horrified.

“wHY DOES THIS CONVERSATION DERIVATED INTO SUCKING? WE ARE ON THE MIDDLE OF THE STREET!” he hollers.

“DON’T SHOUT, HUNK! ” shouts Pidge, after being freed from Hunk’s grasp.

“YOU TWO STARTED!” he gasps, offended.

And that’s where everything just gets crazier and crazier…

“ _ Aaall I wanna do, is see this turn into -  _  “

Yes. Lance has started singing.

“ _ A giant penis!  Giant penis! _ ” he’s serenading the giant monument now, his frame and posture a perfect facsimile of Romeo, in his modest  opinion.

Pidge and Hunk, on the other hand, seem to disagree.

“There are children, Lance!” practically begs Hunk, trying to stop the trainwreck because , yes, there are children passing by, watching his friend with looks of either confusion or amusement.

“I’m being quiet!” states the center of the attention.

Pidge snorts. 

Hunk snickers.

“I aM! LISTEN!” and then he moves his arms like he’s cradling a baby, singing softly  “ _ All I wanna be, Is someone who gets to see… a giant penis! Giant penis _ !”

“Someone please stop him” starts begging the young woman.

“Lance, it’s over, buddy. Knock it off, please.”  The alluded stops the singing and bows to his best friend.

“Just because you asked me, buddy, sunshine of my eyes, my man, my bro…! ” 

Hunk smiles warmly and jokingly answers

“Bro.”

Lance’s little smile turns into a grin.

“Bro!”

Hunk puffs his chest and opens his arms wide.

“Bro!!!”

Lance responds in identical motion.

“Bro!!!!” Now both of them are hugging and jumping, repeating the world all over again. 

“ Gross.” comments a very weirded out Pidge who is - yes, all this time, thank you very much - standing besides them.

When they all calmed down, Lance gets hold of his phone and starts searching for places to eat nearby.

“Okay, so” he starts saying  “Internet here says we can eat around Corrientes. That would be, this Avenue with the McDonald’s -- ”

“You don’t expect us to eat at McDonald’s, do you?” interrupts him Hunk with a slightly worried frown  “Like, we are from the place that…  _ thing _ …  “ he shudders  “is from. And we are here. New food. New condiments. Let’s find something, eh, authentic, please?” he begs.

“Did you just call McDonald’s a  _ thing _ ?” asks Pidge  “Are you attacking my basic food group like that?”

Hunk looks at her, horrified and opened his mouth to retort but Lance steps up on time.

“O-okay. We’re not starting Mcdonald's chit chats. No, Hunk, buddy, of course we are not going to eat there today” his friend drops his shoulders, relieved  “This avenue in question seems to have a lot of food places where you can exercise your palate on argentine treats”

Pidge tries to snatch his phone with impatience.

“Okay, but where!? We are just going to go around looking for something that’ll just magically fit our parameters? I’m hungry!” she says.

Someone coughs.

Lance tries to get his backpack in his vision. Yes, he have been distracted. Shush, Pidge in his brain, don’t nag him. 

No, he hasn’t been robbed.

Phew.

Someone coughs again, way more closer. He startles and looks up to see his friends looking in surprise at… a giant fox.

Yup, as if the giant penis in the middle of the city isn’t bizarre enough.

A orange plush fox, like, with a person inside (hopefully). 

“Uh...hi?” he t entatively asks the… new furry acquaintance.

The fox raises a hand in a greeting motion and a deep voice comes from the costume - a little coarse, kinda muted from the several layers in between. 

“Hi… I heard you were talking about going out to eat and I figured you were tourists so --” 

“We’re students” kindly corrects him Hunk.

“Oh, cool. Then it can be more helpful. Um. Okay…” they turn to the side, signaling the street across them  “Corrientes is a place full of theatres and pizza places, mostly. That’s what you are going to find. Eh, prizes are kinda varied but you have…” their accented voice struggles with a couple vocals and some things come out somehow british  “  _ Las Cuartetas _ on that side” they motion to the opposite direction  “And  _ Guerrin _ over there. Guerrin is cheaper if you eat your food standing, you pay for the portion of pizza if you do. It’s actually very economic…and uh...” the plush head looks at them and then back at the direction they were signaling  “you have a lot of second hand books and record stores over there. You can find rare books for practically nothing, that’s where us students go. Well, there or to Parque Rivadavia”

Pidge, Lance and Hunk stare at him, eyes wide. 

“Woah” says Pidge  “I’ve never thought I’ll say this but that was very helpful, fox”

“Yeah” concords  Hunk  “You are a kind person. That was...unexpected… but helpful”

“Should we listen to more foxes around here, then?” jokes Lance. The fox, though, raises a hand to stop him.

“Please, don’t. Some people are actually nasty” they can’t see their face but they feel like they are making a disgusted face  “Really nasty. I just like to talk in english and help! ”

“...and you kinda saved us” states Hunk  “Thank you, fox”

“Oh, fox, you are our lord and saviour and we owe you our lives!” exclaims Lance, with a high note and a dramatic posture.

“Don’t make this weirder” mumbles Pidge.

“Please, don’t” agrees the fox  “I’m just a kind fox. Guy. Bollocks. Uh” he extends his hand to the trio. Sorry, his  _ paw _  “I’m Leopoldo. Or Leo? Leo is fine” 

Hunk takes the decision first and shakes it.

“Nice to meet you, Leo!” 

Lance follows

“Uh, I’ve never met a furry in real life. I thought you didn’t exist out of the Internet. Nice to meet you”

Leo laughs.

“Glad I’m your first, then” he answers smoothly, a joking edge on his voice. 

The cubano gets speechless. What do you expect!?  _ A furry have just out joked him _ . That’s a low point. Even to him.

“Oh, I like this guy” intervenes Pidge, shoving Lance out of the way so she can greet the fox  “Thank you for shutting him up. And for the food recommendations.”

Leo just shrugs.

“No troubles!”

Lance stares at him a little offended.

“Can we go to eat something, please?” he tells his friends, who touch their stomachs in answer.

“Okay!” resolves Hunk  “We have to go,fox...furry...Leo!”

“Yeah, I’m starving”

The plush hand waves at them. And then takes out a little card from his fanny pack’s pocket and gives it to them

“I’m also a computer technician. Tell me if you need anything?” 

Pidge and Hunk look at each other and laugh. Lance just sighs while he took the card.

“We already have that. But we’ll keep it. Thank you.” He looks at his friends 

“Food. Now”

“Okay, okay”

“Bye, Leo!”

“Thank you!”

  
  


They cross the street and start walking in direction to  _ Guerrin _ .

Pidge looks at them bewildered  _  “I can’t believe we were just toured by a furry in the middle of Buenos Aires”  _ she says.

Hunk seems to be having the same difficulty to grasp around the concept.

Lance, on the other hand, is silent. 

“Hey, Lance” his best friend touches his shoulders.

“...”

“Lance”

Pidge squints at the dark skinned boy, oddly retracted in himself.

“Let me do this, please” she says tiptoeing to be at Lance’s level.  “HEEEEY LANCEEE” she shouts on his ear.

“He’s not my first!” hollers the alluded.

“Oh, of course you were salty about that...” thinks Hunk out loud. 

Pidge, on the meanwhile, is laughing her ass off.

“L-Lance” she pronounces, before cutting herself with a current of giggles  “L-lance! You were j-ju-just called out by a f-f-urry!!”

The boy’s eyes opens wide.

“Lance…” she continues  “Do you know what this means?”

Hunk’s little amused smile brightens. 

“Oh! Oh!  _ Lance! _ ”

“Yes!”

“Lance!!”

The boy is still in silence, eyes open wide. Then, he shouts, from the top of his lungs.

“THE DRUNK BUCKET LIST!” he looks at his friends for confirmation and they nod  “So that means we can’t cross that shit out!?”

“Yes, you idiot!” answers happily Pidge.

“Yes…?” he repeats slowly. His face changes to a small smile and then it breaks into a crazy grin  “I WAS CALLED OUT BY A DOG!!! _ I WAS CALLED OUT BY A DOG!!! _ ” 

Hunk and Pidge cheer back.

\---

“Heh, man, that’s a hell of a story,” he states, half an hour later, watching the people pass by from one of the wooden tables at the old pizza parlor. 

The tiles of the floor are a chess pattern. Black. White. Black. White. It’s nice to stare at.

They chose to sit down at  _ Guerrin _ and order a full pizza. They are tired from a whole day of walking through and through and they just need the well deserved rest for their wounded feet. He looks at himself at the mirror wall. The place is full of those. And old frames.

“I don’t know,” says Hunk thoughtfully, setting his pizza down  “Like, it was  _ crazy _ but not as crazy as your encounter with Kogane.”

Pidge’s eyes grow as large as the tomato slices of the pizza she’s eating and starts making motions to Hunk, which only results in her choking on her food.

Lance perks up from his daze. Looks at them. And his mind gets invaded by images of three weeks ago, where he flirted with a cute guy that resulted to be his ugly, mullet-y _ rival. _ Ooooh, it’s so on, Kogane!

“I STILL CAN’T BELIEVE -” he hollers in indignation, slamming his hand against the table. Pidge is shooting at Hunk a pained look and the big guy looks like he’s filled with regrets - which,honestly, that’s what Kogane should be filled with.  “HE HAS THE  _ NERVE _ TO SHOW UP HERE AFTER ALL HE’S DONE!”

The little woman swallows her food.

“Ugh. Please, Lance. Not this again... I’ve heard it a thousand times” she says.

“Because he did this a thousand times!” he states  “He’s always rubbing in my face he gets the best notes at the USA! And this was my chance!!” he joins his hands together, voice a little low

“I just wanted to… don’t know...succeed for once. I’m always having to one up to him. Now I just got the chance to...” he stops when he sees his friend’s expressions. He doesn’t want to worry them. Shit, he was too downey...shit.

With a tense smile, he tries to brush it off  “ANYWAY! He’s not here right now, that little crap! Who thought he could just, disimulate! HA! Saying he didn’t know me! HA! HA! HA!” he exclaims  “ _ NO, SON, YOU KNEW ME FROM THE START! _ He sure does play dirty tactics, huh!?”

Hunk puts a hand on his shoulder.

“I don’t think he planned all this through. I mean, what are the chances of an american student to go in a exchange program to Argentina?” he tries to console him. Lance’s expression turns meditative.

“Hunk… you’re right” he agrees

“Phew, I’m glad you get it -” Hunk’s voice is relieved.

“THAT’S EXACTLY THE PROOF HE’S AFTER ME!”

“Nope. He didn’t get it” states Pidge, watching all that scene with a frown. 

“Lance…” she calls  “Please, I understand your obsession for Kogane. Even if I don’t even know what the guy looks like. Except that he has a mullet” she scrunches up her nose  “Which is probably your exaggeration…”

“Uh, I know the guy and he seems very quiet too” adds Hunk. Lance looked at him in disbelief

“IT’S A COVER, HUNK!” he screeches. His best friend just raises his hands in resignation.

“Anyway…” says Pidge  “I need you to focus, yeah? Keith’s not here nor will be and we need you on your best. Specially today.”

That raises Lance’s attention.

And suspicion.

“Why today?”

“Well…” Pidge’s face betrays that she didn’t want to spill the beans just now  “I talked with Allura”

 

Allura is their landlord, the owner of the building they live in. It’s a building that argentines call PH, that’d be, a old fashioned building that consisted on a main patio from which you can access to the apartments, all of them high ceilings. This type of building rarely surpasses the main floor and a first floor, where you can access via a metallic spiral staircase in the patio. Hunk, Pidge and Lance live on the only apartment of the first floor of their building. 

The exchange program includes the rent costs and they had a special agreement with the owner and landlord, Allura, a Brazilian-British imposing woman, who lives on the main floor with her uncle, Coran, an australian zoologist that some years ago left his adventures around the globe to let them be adventures with her niece at Buenos Aires city.  They are amazing people, if not a little quirky and timeless but the group was practically adopted by Coran and his (not) delicious extravagant cooking. 

 

“So, you talked with Allura....?” rushes her Lance.

“Yup”

“About…?”

“Remember the empty apartment?”  asks the girl, referring to the one on the main floor, the only one left unoccupied  “Well, I kinda found someone? I know one of them because of my brother and they are students, like us.”

Hunk looked at her in surprise.

“Woah, I didn’t expect more students to be interested on our building. That’s cool! ” he says.

“It could be a total party!” smiles Lance. The news dissipated the bittersweet memory of Keith Kogane. After all, in a foreign country, it is always nice to find people who just, get it. Get the sways, the comes and goes, the rollercoaster and the rush of missing home and thriving the new places, the want under the skin, the need to find each crack and stone with a passion of a lover. That’s how curiosity plays Lance: a tidal wave of a new beach, taking in one hit the air out of him, leaving him defenseless.

He munches his pizza thoughtfully. Huh. It was different from the shack in Varadero. Same greasy feeling but different crust. This was more broad and bready...did that adjective even described food? He should ask Hunk. He was the one with the culinary minor after all.

“So, is it decided? Are they moving in? ” 

Pidge shakes her head.

“Nah, one of them is coming in to get a look at the apartment and all that stuff… the one I know, actually. He’s really nice and really in need of a apartment so I need us in full- neighbourly mode”

Hunk’s face lights up.

“Okay! Pidge! Pidge, listen! I can totally bake him something! Are welcome-brownies too much?”

“Do we have enough time to cool them off? At what time he’s gonna be there?” asks Lance.

Pidge takes another slice of pizza and the lean boy curses internally when he notices she got a part with two olives.

“Five-ish” she says between bites  “He’s got work at night”

Hunk furrows his brow and checks his phone.

“Yeaaah, we are not good then” 

Lance reaches for the last slice and a knife. 

“Why’s that, buddy?” he tries cutting it in three equal parts. It comes out a little uneven so he shrugs and takes the smaller one.

“It’s 4:30 of the afternoon”

“FUCK!” Pidge slams the table with a loud scream, Lance chokes on his pizza and Hunk lets out a little yelp of surprise. A few patrons of other tables peer curiously at them.

“No bad words, Pidgey!” Lance says,still coughing pizza out of his lungs.

“Fuck shit poop  “ she deadpans. Hunk rolls his eyes and puts them in the present.

“So, are we paying or not? It’s at least a 40 minute trip home from here…”

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck” keeps repeating the small gremlin. Lance finally gulps his pizza down and decides to take matters on his hands.

“Okay. We are paying.” he turns around in search of the waiter. Where was he? There is one… arms full of pizza. And this other! Full of bottles. The other one…? There! Okay. 

“Now what?” he mutters, not having a single clue of how to get his attention. He waves his arms but the man doesn’t spare him a glance. He keeps waving. Great, now he looks like the overgrown tanned son of Slenderman…

He turns around to his friends to see them stuffing calmly the food in their mouths (even if Pidge is muttering  “fuck”s between bites).

“Does anyone know how to get his attention?”

Pidge shrugs and keeps eating. Hunk smiles like he’s some sort of lost child, gets up of his chair, spots the waiter and gracefully makes a motion with his right hand.  _ A special motion.  _ Lance almost gets offended when the alluded person dignifies his friend a quick nod and comes back a few seconds later with the check.

He doesn’t have the time because as soon as they have payed and left the tip, Pidge takes them out by the arm and bolts out of the pizza place.

Lance laughs at the sudden rush of air that makes them free go flying. The leaves were already starting their inevitable fall on  _ Avenida Corrientes _ , getting stuck on the canopies that announced current plays. It was nice seeing them fly, passing kids with white garments (the one’s primary schoolers all around the country used, he had been told by Pidge.  _ Guardapolvos _ , they were called). Those kids are fresh out of school, peering through the aisles that display old records and even older books. Lance, akin to reading, even if it is quite difficult for him to stay focused, admires the mystic they cast over the little ones and even on himself. The promise of a world that  passed from hand to hand and through unknowable far places  is appealing even to him. He makes a quiet promise to himself to check the avenue out sometime. Maybe he’d find something interesting for his classes… this first semester abroad was promising and maybe his Education major could get more special… he couldn’t wait until the university gave him shifts as a assistant teacher. It was in the deal for the interchange program, education and a practicant spot. His university back at Oregon took care of the rest. Room accommodations, food, viatics… 

He was thinking about taking a job somewhere, so he could add more money to his savings and maybe get on a vacation. It was a pity being in a country with so much things to see and not having the money to do so.

His gaze follows the leaves, reddish, maroon, dead and full of life until they approach the bus stop block and Pidge makes him run behind the  _ colectivo _ .

 

(He remembers to ask Hunk about his knowledge on the waiter situation and the  _ special motion _ . 

“Huh. Leo told me after you ran off…” his best friend shrugs.

“Bless your heart, Leo the furry !” cackles Pidge

“... bless you, Leo the furry” says Lance quietly to the window. 

Reflected over the city and the old buildings rushing and blending, he can see his own amused smile.)

  
  
  


The PH was quite the novelty for the trio. They found it by chance, on a advertisement while snooping around the internet at 3am on their college dorms back in Oregon. Pidge was licking old ice cream from a spoon, Lance was sprayed like a jellyfish besides her and Hunk was repairing someone’s old computer. Then, it had appeared, in both english and spanish.

They fell in love with it instantly. 

And when they actually went to Argentina and saw the place, they knew they had made an amazing decision.

 

The street door leads to a long and narrow aisle. The light of midday sometimes glistens against the light blue ceramics that cover the walls and against the leaves of the plants hanging around. The aisle leads to a big, old patio full of pots of different sizes and shapes that Pidge had squinted at when she first entered but now she was watering and chatting up every noon. A big round metallic table and several chairs to match is placed at the center of the patio, from which you could access Coran and Allura’s apartment and the empty one, so as the spiral staircase that led to first floor, which consisted of a balcony looking down at the patio and Lance, Hunk and Pidge’s apartment, the biggest .

The old building oozes history and confidence, from the climbing plants all over the walls (that Coran said would give flowers on spring) to the lazy cat that sprays herself under the midday’s sun every time she had the chance. 

Her name is Cachita and she’s a mix of a domestic and a stray cat, coming in and out, climbing the walls to get in the adjacent buildings.

The old building was a little unnerving at first - so different from his old house in Cuba, from his home in California and even from the crowded smelly dorm room in Oregon. But step by step, Lance’s reticence is easily molded by Coran’s quirks, Allura’s determination and his friends warm familiarity.

He only hoped the new additions they could get would just amplify that feeling.

 

_ SLAM _

 

The metallic door of the front squeaks in protest to Pidge’s push.

Where did the gremlin get all that force, anyways? Lance makes a mental note to not upset her as they all practically run through the hall. 

There, at the center of the patio, illuminated by the last lights of that Saturday’s afternoon, sitting at the metallic chairs, are Allura - her white long hair curling around her ears and casting a ethereal cloud above her head and down her back- Coran - eternal orange moustache brushing his smiling mouth-  and a man. 

And  _ damn _ , what a man. Like the argentinians would say,  _ está más bueno que el pan. _ His buff arms can clearly be seen through that light purple shirt and when Lance stops his gaze on this man’s face, he’s totally taken aback. With that body, you would expect someone to be intimidating, but this guy’s gaze is so soft and _ kind _ . How even. He’s clearly asian, and has a strong jaw, a rect nose and his black hair shaved to the sides, his bangs showing a little bit of white streaks.

A blur passes in front of Lance and there’s Pidge enveloping the man in a embrace.

“Shiro!” she greets him.

The men laughs a little a hugs her back.

“Good to see you, Katie!” 

The girl smiles and bumps him in the arm  

“Matt told me you were hanging around Argentina, too! If it wasn’t for him, I wouldn’t have known! You know I can help you find a place and you just don’t ask?” 

“Oh my god, Pidgey, leave the poor man breathe. We just came here.” pokes her Lance before grinning at the newcomer with his most dazzling smile. He gives out his hand and the other shakes it with a more dazzling full mouthed beam.

“Nice to meet you! I’m Lance, Pidge’s friend and roomie!” he’s trying very hard not to flirt. He is. He can totally dish out a compliment to this man’s strong hand but he doesn’t because he’s going to be neighbourly. And he doesn’t want to get murdered by  _ Katie _ , thank you very much.

“I’m Takashi Shirogane” he says  “but people short it to ‘Shiro’  ”

“My turn!” stomps in Hunk, his arms balancing a tray full of cookies he got from who knows where. The big guy is  _ magical  _  “I’m Hunk! Well, you can call me that! Have a cookie! Or a few. It really doesn’t matter, I can always prepare more…”

“Hunk, buddy, let him breathe” Lance says, trying to make himself seen behind his friend. And from the suave pose he could manage from leaning onto the table he can’t resist winking at the newcomer  “We wouldn’t want to give him first emergency procedures the first day here”

The man seem to have been left speechless.

And then, he laughs.

“We wouldn’t want that, no. Thank you for your concern” Okay, the guy might be maybe a little too old and fatherly-like for Lance but that laugh was cute. At least he took his flirt abilities in the good way.

Unlike others.

Because Pidge is making a noise that can be interpreted as a dying cat.

“Yes, I know, I know” says Hunk with compassion, patting her in the back  “Here, have a cookie!”

“Hey! What…! It wasn’t that bad!” Lance protests  “Pidge, don’t look at me like I’ve done something wrong!” he squeaks at the glare the girl gives him in response.

“At least he didn’t flirt with the furry today” Hunk says thoughtful  “That was a advance”

Lance makes some other noises of protest , high pitched and very offended, when he notices Allura, Coran and Shiro watching them with utter confusion in their faces.

“Huh. It’s a long story?” He tries to explain. Keyword.  _ Tries. _

Pidge resuscitates for her agony and brightens up at the opportunity to embarrass Lance. She opens up her mouth to talk...

So he does what he does best. The trait you must learn in a in family to avoid topics that can’t be shared for dear life. The trait that saves you from nosy aunts, from too curious kids and dangerous probabilities. 

He changes the subject.

 

“So Shiro!” he says as loud as he can  “What made you come to Argentina?”

“I had the opportunity to enrich my master with the program. And this place in particular… Latin America… seemed to call me. I know Japan, I know the USA. But I never went to South America.”

“Japan?” asks Coran with curiosity.

“Yes, my grandparents are from there.”

“Cool!” interjects Lance  “Mine are from Cuba. Well, and my parents, too.”

Hunk smiles and raises his arm.

“Samoan, myself”

Pidge laughs a little

“What is this, a claiming? My mum is argentinian, yo.” she arranges the bridge of her glasses and looks back up at them with a small grin  “But you already knew it”

Everyone looks at Allura, who sighs and makes a little bow with her hands as she speaks.

“Brazilian - my dad- and british - my mum.” 

“Best friends of mine!” Coran cheers up and exclaims  “I’m australian myself! But don’t get bugged off!”

They all laugh and motion to Shiro to continue.

“Well, I’m studying anthropology. My idea is to be a social worker - stay as much on the practical side of the science as I can. And I know about Argentina’s - South America’s in general - situation on the social side. Buenos Aires’s university  is pretty well known so I decided to give it a chance. Plus, I get to see places and people I know otherwise I wouldn’t be able to see.” he smiles to himself and it’s charming and adorable at the same time, like an overexcited puppy.  “Why are you all looking at me like that?”

They are all watching him, mouths agape, jaws slack to the floor.

Hunk is the first to unfreeze.

“Woah” he simply says, getting the tears off his eyes.

“Woah, indeed” Pidge agrees  “Matt told me you were a nerd and kind of a puppy, but I didn’t believe him much. He usually spews bullshit…”

“Hey!” answers softly Shiro  “Matt  _ does _ say bullshit but he’s more of a nerd than I am”

“Nu-uh. He’s doing kickboxing now.” states Pidge, arms crossing over her chest.

“...And using contacts. Yes, I know. But he’s still a big nerd.”

“Nerdiness aside” interrupts Lance  “That’s amazing, honestly. We’d be really honoured to be sharing space with you” he states, smiling. Then he remembers  “And what about your roommate? What do they wanna do?”

“Why don’t you ask him yourself?” he says and then, before Lance can react, he stands up and walks over to the door of the empty apartment. He brings both hands to his mouth and calls inside.

“Hey, Keith! Come out here to say hi!” he shouts. 

Lance’s whole world stops. His brain recognizes the name but he denies it. Because it can’t be, right? What are the chances? Frozen in place, he watches how - in slow motion, the universe seems to have stopped beating - from the door comes out a person. He watches black hair loose, falling over this person’s face. He watches his shoulders, his back as he closes the door and remembers have seen it before, with all those shapes and bumps. Always, always his back.

He watches as the person -  _ the guy _ \- approaches, arms crossed his chest, involved in a red jacket.

He watches as he comes closer, so close their eyes meet in equal surprise. 

He watches Keith Kogane’s eyes and tries to not dwell too much on the rush that’s shaking all his senses.

_ (No, he didn’t miss him, why would he) _

“Hi” the greeting comes, shy, awkward. And he remembers, he remembers, he remembers.

He breathes in.

“Hi! I’m Pidge”  the girl introduces herself  “I’m Matt Holt’s sister” 

His body is still.

“Hello, there! I think we know each other from college? I’m Hunk!”

Keith nods.  _ Of course _ he remembers  _ Hunk. _ Who wouldn’t?

Then the raven haired boy looks at him, grey eyes glinting.

Lance tries to breath in.

The air comes out shaky.

He explodes.

“ARE YOU FOR REAL, MAN!?” he exclaims loudly, he can’t contain the feeling of frustration that’s flowing from his pores  “ARE - ARE YOU FOLLOWING ME OR SOMETHING!?”

Keith seems taken aback but he doesn’t stop him.

“AGAIN AND AGAIN I HAVE TO SEE YOU AND YOUR DUMB MULLET-”

“What’s your problem with my hair?” the boy retorts, way more calm than he is.

“What’s not his problem with that hair?” mutters snarky Pidge. 

“GREMLIN.” Lance turns to the girl  “SHUSH. PLEASE”

She just shrugs.

“Well, I’m just saying. It’d be nice if you two discussed this in another moment? Maybe? We are kinda trying to sign a deal here”

“A -  “ Lance repeats  “Pidge, did you know about this?”

“No, but it is  _ hilarious _ ” she cackles.

“Pidge, they are only coming in to see the apartment, right?”

Shiro clears his throat.

“Actually…” Oh no.  “We already signed the contract? This was just a double check, to see if Keith was definitely okay with the place.”

Lance’s head is spinning. He turns to the other guy.

“You are not okay with this place, right?” Look at him now. His only hope left is  _ Keith _ . Who, by the way, shrugs, like the thing isn’t a big deal.

“We are really in need of a roof  right now and this is pretty convenient”  he says. What the fuck.

“What the  _ fuck _ !” he repeats out loud  “Keith, buddy, my man. Of course it isn’t convenient. Look! Look at me! _ I live here! _ ”

Keith raises an eyebrow.

“And?”

What.

The.

Fuck.

He just watches him with horror.

“ It’s not that important” the dark haired boy mutters in response to his look, a little doubtful. Wait, is he confused!? He opens his mouth to retort, to give another thousand reasons about the place isn’t a good rooming deal but he is promptly interrupted by Allura stepping in the conversation.

“Lance.” she calls, voice stern and dangerous.  “Are you trying to ruin my business?”

Oh no.

Allura is mad. 

Scratch everything. 

That’s scary. 

“Huh” he smartly answers  “Of course not…”

“Then shut up and be welcoming to your new neighbours” she states and then goes into her house for more tea.

Silence falls over the group.

They all sit down in the metallic chairs.

“So…” Hunk tries to dissipate the tension hanging in the air  “Welcome!”

“Thank you” smiles Shiro warmly. Keith nods. Lance stays silent.

“Sorry for being late” says Pidge  “We kinda got stuck at the centre”

“Yeah, it’s a weekday, I understand” The buff man nudges his roommate 

“We were at the centre a few weeks ago”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Huh, that’s nice.”

Silence.

God, this is really awkward.

“So did you see the Giant Penis?”  Lance blurts out suddenly, to everyone’s surprise. Pidge and Hunk seem horrified. Coran, interested. Shiro, confused. But it’s on Keith where Lance’s attention lies, like a dare. Because Keith hasn’t even raised a brow in surprise and who, without missing a beat, answers.

“Oh, yeah, we saw  _ El Obelisco  _ the first week here”  he simply says.

Everyone looks at him. He notices and retreats into himself, shoulders smaller, face defensive.  “Did I say something wrong?”

“No, no , buddy, of course not” Lance rushes to assure him, his voice weirdly soft in comparison to his outburst earlier. It even surprises himself, he knows but, to be honest, it’s nice to be recognized like that. He  _ knew _ it was a Giant Penis. He  _ knew  _ it. 

Keith seems taken aback.

And laughter comes, bubbling in Lance’s chest and coming out loud and victorious.  “See, Pidge!? It  _ was _ a giant penis!! I told you!  _ I told you!” _

The alluded sighs and  heavily drops herself  on her chair. 

“Oh, god” she says resigned  “There’s two weirdos now. Why did I agree to this. Why.”

“You brought this on YOURSELF! HA!” celebrates Lance and he starts humming.

Then he remembers  _ who _ agreed with him and looks his way.

Keith is watching him with a strange look of bewilderment, like he can’t believe what he’s hearing - _ well _ , Lance thinks,  _ he brought this craziness on himself _ . His eyes are wide open and, for a second, the cubano lets himself dwell on its colour. Purple? Grey?  Who knows, even? 

Lance does a double take of the scene. 

There it’s the table in the patio in a corner of Buenos Aires. 

There’s Pidge and Hunk - his best friends - screeching in despair, trying to stop him for repeating so much the word  _ penis _ .

There’s Allura, coming with tea, ignoring the noisy kids and offering Shiro a cup.

There’s Coran, swinging the cat around with a rhythm only he knows. 

And there’s Keith, illuminated by the reddish light of the sunset. This is his rival of years, who was better at him at everything, the one that irritated him with his indifference, his distant attitude . But also, the kid that doesn’t know a drop of spanish but still went to a spanish talking country, the kid that infuriates him but also made him feel kinda fond with all his awkwardness and his sharp, defensive retorts. 

The kid that agreed with one of his crazy opinions without a single doubt.

Maybe, Kogane deserves a truce.

So Lance smirks and extends his hand onto him.

“Welcome to our castle, Kogane. Are you sure you can handle this?”

Keith doesn’t doubt. His eyes flicker around Lance’s face, looking for something. He founds it and before Lance can turn back on every decision he have made in his life, shakes strongly the hand and smirks, mirroring him.

“ _ I can handle this” _

It’s going to be a long year.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Language notes:  
>  _Av. Corrientes_ , _Av. 9 de Julio_ : important avenues of Buenos Aires - some parts of them are very traditional and touristic.  
>  _Guerrín_ , _Las Cuartetas_ : traditional pizza places of Argentina. Both of the restaurants are located on Av Corrientes.  
>  _guardapolvos_ : mandatory uniform in public elementary schools (which are called ''primarias'').  
>  As long as I know, it helds a significance that every kid, rich or poor, is the same for the education system.  
> Or, at least, that's the original intention. here's a visual example
> 
>  _colectivo_ : Invented in Argentina, the ''colectivo'' was originally thought out to be a ''collective taxi service'', hence the name. Though I don't know what differences it from the bus. There are hundred of colectivo lines all over Buenos Aires - the city and the province - and all of them are traditionally colourful. If you are lucky, you might find an old colectivo still working on the streets! Trust me, you'll spot it immediately. Visual reference for then and now
> 
>  _está más bueno que el pan_ : ''he's more good than bread'', literally. It means he's hella attractive.  
>     
> \----
> 
> _... oh my god they were ~~roomates~~ neighbours_
> 
> Would y'all believe me if I tell you that ''Leo the furry'' is actually my friend in real life? To be fair, we met and befriended _before_ his furry stage and he's actually a cool peep, not creepy at all. I showed him his cameo and he loved it, he said it's actually him. Prepare yoselves for more colourful cameos of the people I _do_ know and love  & who are argentinians that shape my life everyday!  
> And yes, Pidge is half-argentinian in this AU! Why? Because I love her and I can totally picture her bein' a latina and talking spanish with Lance (even if they don't understand each other much because of dialects.
> 
> mmmmmmmmm this is only the startttt! Comments are open for you to vent your feelings, analysis, endless laughter or critics! Thank you for reading!


	3. para odiar hay que querer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The squad has a picnic day at _Los Lagos De Palermo_. Cue lots of bonding under the shining sun.
> 
> a.k.a. ''Mate doesn't taste like awful spinach, Hunk!''

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from ''Nunca quise'' by _Intoxicados_
> 
> (yes, all titles come from argentinian songs :D)

 

Keith hates sunburns.

His skin has the annoying talent of not only burning easily but also that the heat and the prickles he feels all over his skin don’t end up in a beautiful tan but in a alien tomato shade.

Shiro laughed like a maniac the first time they went on a trip outdoors because, even if he did put a impressive amount of sunscreen, at the end of the day he was the amorphous breed of a lobster and a human. Again, Shiro is definitely a little shit.

Again, he doesn’t fancy sunburns and that’s exactly what happens when he’s exposed to the dangerous sunlight - and maybe he’s a vampire and yes, he’s from the desert but sun is still annoying for Keith.

That’s why he doesn’t understand what is he doing here. _Los Lagos de Palermo_ hovering before him, like a outdated sepia photograph. Shiro is talking animatedly with Coran and Allura, all of them carrying coolers. A few steps behind is Hunk, strong arms lifting a huge basket full of food. And then, closing the comitive, there are Pidge and Lance discussing something pretty loudly. Oh, and there’s him. In the middle. With those two shouting at each other on his ear.

_Yay, picnic day._

“Look Pidge, I don’t care about what you say. There’s no way you are going make Boo’s story angsty like that…” starts Lance and Pidge - for the third time in the afternoon - whines and throws her arms up in the air.

“The Pixar Theory is perfectly circular! That old lady in Brave has to be Boo!”

“No-ope. I’m not accepting it. What about Wall-E, then?”

“I’ve already told you-!” but she gets stopped by Lance’s firm shake of his head.

“And I’ve already told you. It doesn’t fit!” He passes a hand through his hair nonchalantly and, when he smiles, his hair is messy.   “I’m sorry, Pidge, but I’ve seen those movies a thousand times and I can assure you those Easter Eggs are just for fun. And if that theory is right on something, Pixar will never say it! After all, it’s just another company that needs to maintain  their target age clean and pure.” He makes a exasperated face at the last thing, voice tinted with sarcasm.

The short young woman is huffing now, clearly disappointed.

“Hey, but you were right with the Diamond Authority Theory in Steven Universe!” says Lance cheerily.  “You really smashed me with that one, huh!”

Keith notices that the man didn’t rub his win in Pidge’s face and did instead turn the conversation into something she was right about and he wasn’t to cheer the girl up. He shoots down the fond smile that threatens to creep up because _what the fuck._

“And what about you, Keith?” asks Lance. Speak of the devil…

“What about me?”

“Yeah, what’s your favourite Pixar Movie…”

“Huh” He pauses, trying to remember the movies he used to see as a child.  “Huh. A Bug’s Life.” he spews. It ends up coming unconvincing.

“A… Bug’s Life…?” Lance is watching him with a raised eyebrow. He can only shrug in response. Yeah, that’s all he had in mind. But this man apparently doesn’t give up because he asks  “And your favourite movie ever?”

“Matilda,“ he answers instantly with no doubt. He doesn't tell him it was the one VHS tape that he had repeated over and over when his foster parents were sleeping and there were no kids awake to disrupt with their noise.

He doesn’t tell him how it had enchanted him - Matilda, so different and bright, so smart, fighting for what she deserved, getting herself a family that truly loved her. He doesn’t tell him how he dreamt - day and night - that was his destiny as well. He doesn’t tell him how the dream isn’t more than this old, naive child’s hope now. He doesn’t tell him anything, just pierces his gaze on blue eyes, waiting for truly nothing to happen.

“Oh,” Lance simply says  “That’s... cool.” At Keith’s other side, Pidge just snorts.

“Now you are ashamed to tell him yours is ‘101 Dalmatians.’” The brown skinned boy sputters in indignation.

“It’s not!” his voice breaks at the end and Keith remembers the night he met him, his amusement at Lance’s vocal resemblance with a chicken. He smiles, endeared by the memory. Yeah, it’s the same person.

Pidge huddles close to the raven haired boy and, in mock secrecy, shouts loudly at his ear.

“101 Dalmatians _2,”_ she points out the last bit with irony.

“It’s not!” he insists.  “Pidge, please!”

“Okay, it’s not, but you liked it a _ton_ , as a child. Your sister told me!”

As in cue of Lance’s mumbled, “Traitor.” and Pidge gives him a pinch in the arm, to which he responds in similar manner. Basically, that results in a pinching competition with Keith in the middle of it.

When an elbow hits him right on the face, he decides he’s had enough.

Okay, he’s out.

He advances a few steps forward, very intentionally ignoring Lance’s cry of apology and Pidge’s cackles, and he ends up walking along with Hunk, who gives him a sideways kind smile in between all of his baskets full of food.

“Overwhelmed?” the guy asks, eyes glinting with amusement. Keith nods.

“Yeah, it’s not bad just…” his voice wanders off between the trees and the green grass growing messily. They are approaching some kind of biking and walking trail inside the park. People bolting pass with their strollers or jogging. There are lot of kids, either riding their little, fluffy, ornamented bikes or in groups on some kind of...metallic pedal car.

“A lot.” Hunk finishes for him  “I understand, it happens to me all the time. You have to be on their hype train to carry on with the speed of the conversation or otherwise you get lost”

Some parrots chirp. Keith absentmindedly turns his head up at the tall palm trees, where he watches the flock of birds fly off up to the blue sky. It’s a curious shade, a deep, rich, clear blue. Very unlike the greyish blue of the foster home at Seattle, where the smoke of the cars and his foster’s dad cigarette ascended in a hellish vals, dyeing it all with a asphyxiating feeling.

Hunk snaps him out of his trance, stepping in with his vivid, deep voice.

“It’s still easy, though” the phrase hangs in his brain. He inhales it like that despised thread of smoke.

“What?”  So he questions. Questions the smoke and the feeling and the life that grazes his skin. It feels unfamiliar, totally alien.

“Talking with them. It’s wickedly easy. That’s why they are my best friends…” Hunk seems like he contains stories. The melancholic happiness in his voice makes Keith wants to crack something funny, to say whatever to end it.

“Even Lance?” he blurts out. It was a joke. He got that, right? Or did he seem offensive? After all, not even a week ago the tall man met him with utter disbelief and wariness dripping through all of his pores.

“‘Specially Lance.“ Hunk doesn’t doubt. Doesn’t let a second pass by before answering. It’s a stern truth and Keith accepts it and feels like maybe this smoke makes every truth easier to breath in.

 

They set the picnic basket and the coolers in a spot under a big tree, not too far from the big artificial lake. At the distance, there’s a white bridge and pedal boats come and go under it. There’s also some kind of island in the middle.

“Is this the first time you have been here?” Shiro asks. Allura, sunglasses firmly placed over her face, pink frames contrasting her dark skin, looks around and shakes her head no.

“It’s a pretty nice place to hang out. You can rent a bike, a pedal car or a boat if you are too bored,” she says, accent flowing roundly over her vocals.

Pidge throws herself over the big blanket they laid down, making faces when her toes touch the grass outside of it. Hunk simply makes some space for her and keeps making sandwiches for everyone. Keith tries to sit by her side, while Shiro and Allura sit on two lounge chairs Coran brought.

And talking about the old man - there he is, playing catch with a bouncing Lance. The tanned boy seems to be so happy, sunlight kissing his bare arms and his face. Coran throws the ball at him again and, trying to catch it, he nearly loses the sunglasses perched over his hair.

“Ugh” repeats Pidge for the fifth time  “ _Nature._ ”

Keith looks down at her, lying on the blanket, arms and legs positioned like a crucified Christ. She reminds him of the rosary that one of the foster homes  gave him - to protect him from all sins - the crazy woman said and then went to give another one to the kid that always coughed blood.

This Christ, on the other hand, is grumbling.

“You don’t like it?” Keith asks the obvious. Yeah, he’s not good at making conversation, cut him some slack, brain.

“I hate it” she states, eyes closed  “Wasps, bees, always getting chips if you are barefoot and…” she pauses and sniffles  “What’s that _smell_?”

“Huh,” he takes a deep breath,  “grass?”

He apparently gave the right answer, because she scrunches her nose.

“Disgusting. And let me tell you about sunlight! What the hell, humanity! You are killing the ozone cape and with that --- _me_ ” she emphasizes the last word with indignation, and opens her eyes wide in despair, like every action in the world was made on purpose to spite her. He could relate.  “If humans keep thinning the ozone cape,  more sunburns I’ll get! I hate the sun. The only thing I get are red patches of skin and pain for days”

“Yes, I know!” almost shouts Keith, ecstatic because he knew the feeling, too!  “I don’t understand the concept of getting a tan! I just get…”

“RED!” she completes with the same enthusiastic fury. Then she laughs.  “It’s disgusting, man. Hunk and Lance are always telling me” then she clears her throat and starts talking a couple notes higher, in a ridiculous chirpy voice  “‘Hey Pidgey midgey, yaaaa areee reeeed as a tomatooo’ “ she makes a face of disgust and continues  “‘Oh! And you have freckles! Cuuute!’“

Hunk, at her side, rolls his eyes and gets a thermos, a container, a circular wooden cup and a metal straw out of the picnic bag.

“Mate?” he offers to Pidge and the girl drops her mock imitation and looks at him like he hung the moon.

“Gimme gimme gimme” She mumbles, making grabby hands. He passes her the container, the cup and the straw and she diligently pours whatever it’s on the tupper - a nice smelling herb - onto the cup with the straw. She pats the base of it a couple times against the floor and a faint dust comes out of it. Keith coughs, which makes Pidge look up at him.

“Want some?” she says, pouring the steaming water from the thermos onto the cup. He looks at her doubtfully. Is this a prank? This is totally a prank , isn't it. There’s not way this...thing… is edible.

She smiles earnestly. It looks genuine.

“It’s mate. A traditional drink here. That’s how it’s served,” she explains. The boy hums.

“And how do you know that?”

“My mum is from here. My maternal family still lives ‘round. I practically grew up drinking this and you know how difficult is it to find in the USA!?” she laughs softly  “It’s an excellent energizer, too. Better than Red Bull!”

Hunk cackles behind her, putting mayonnaise on the bread.

“Yeah, I remember you bouncing all night with the class projects on hell week and drinking that thing nonstop…” he adds.

“How does it taste?” asks Keith. The thing seemed more and more appealing.

“Eh…” she purses her mouth  “Like mate.”

“Yeah, that says literally nothing,” snorts Hunk.

“Well, I grew up with it! What do you think it tastes like?” she asks, pride wounded. Hunk stops on his track, knife full of mayonnaise half-a-way in the air. He seems very deep in thought.

Silence.

Keith opens his mouth to just _break it_ but Pidge - without even turning around to look at him - blindly puts up a finger to shut him up.

More silence.

More thought.

“Spinach” resolves calmly Hunk and goes back to spread the mayonnaise on the bread, blatantly ignoring Pidge’s cry of indignation.

“Mate doesn’t taste like awful spinach, Hunk, what the hell!” she protests. Then, full of rage, takes a sip from the straw and then hands the _mate_ to Keith, who looks down at it confused.

“Drink it” she orders. Okay, he’s gonna. There’s no way he’s going to object himself to that fury.

Surprisingly, mate tastes really good. Funny, but good. It’s quite bitter - but not too much. It warms his chest and, when he gets enthusiastic and drinks too much, he burns his tongue.

“Slow,” interjects Hunk without looking up from his sandwich making duty. He’s putting olives on them and it seems like the meal it’s going to be crazily fancy.

He drinks slower, this time, the strong taste hugging his throat. It’s nothing like spinach - he doesn’t really knows where Hunk got that idea - it’s more like…

“Yeah, it tastes like mate,” he declares. Pidge throws her arms up in the air with a scream.

“Told you! There was no scientific reason whatsoever that made it taste like spinach, Hunk,” she says smugly and the two of them start discussing similar plants? Maybe.

Oh, he’s finished it.

He nudges Pidge with the cup for more and she fills it up again with the thermos. Though, instead of giving the mate back to him, she passes it to Coran, who stops the catch game to take the drink.  Keith looks between them offended. The drink was his after all!

He hears a faint laugh and looks up to see Lance staring down at him with a smile.

“Hey, it’s not personal, those are the _mate_ rules,” and then flops gracefully besides him, nudging him to make space in the blanket. Keith feels almosts invaded from how naturally Lance orbits his personal space. It’s not bad in itself, just surprising. Pidge, Hunk, Lance… they just get close without wondering, without double guessing who he is or how he would react. Like they’ve known him for a long time, like they don’t have doubts about the way they flow with people, the way the communicate. It’s an alien concept for Keith, just being around human beings without feeling strange or awkward.

So he plays along.

“Mate rules?” he retorts.

“Yeah, the drink is passed around. Everyone gets a turn and the drink keeps moving. What I’ve learned at Pidge’s house is that being around mate… is more of a social thing” Lance explains. He talks with his hands. They flow and toss and turn and Keith wants to _understand_ , understand that silent language that brights in between all of his words.

“I...see.” And he does now.  “Thank you”

The smile Lance gives him in response is blinding.

****

It was Coran’s idea. He said it was a treat to the new neighbours and pushed Shiro, Lance, Pidge, Hunk and Keith onto a five-people sized pedal car. Allura very conveniently passed from the opportunity and perched herself on a lounge chair to enjoy the perks of a day off in the sunlight.

So now the five of them are sweating their lives off, pedaling in unison, trying to keep the machine going on a reasonable speed without crashing on some dog.

“Why is that toddler on a tricycle going faster than us?” says Pidge, in the middle seat next to Keith.

The little kid in question is  - indeed - being so much faster than them and it’d be  quite pathetic if not for the fact that someone’s elbow is on his cheek, the sun is burning his skin and they all are somehow all managing to pedal at different rhythms. There’s your answer, Pidge.

“Okay, team,” Shiro says from the front seat, who is taking this _way_ too seriously for Keith’s liking.  “Our first objective is achieving a common rhythm. You think we can do this?”

A common groan resonates from his back.

“Well,” the man sighs  “How about we pick a song and use that rhythm as a guide? Any suggestions?”

“Oh! Oh! Me!” exclaims Lance. Both Hunk and Pidge make a sound of protest but seem too tired to actually vocalize a protest.

“Yes, Lance?” Keith only can see his hair but he can hear the proud smile Shiro wears.

“Okay, Okay, wait. Take hold of this for me Hunk” A shuffle of clothes continues. Pidge, Keith, Hunk and Shiro pedal with more force to compensate Lance’s search of something. A victory whoop and -  “Here!”

Silence.

Silence.

A synthetic noise Keith doesn’t recognize.

A beat.

A woman starts rapping and --

“Oh my god, Lance, _really_!?”  Pidge sounds exasperated but there’s a wicked smile on her face that makes Keith think that song actually pleases her. Hunk is laughing. Shiro is humming along.

“It’s been a while” he says and nods to the beat  “Nice choice, Lance”

“Thank you, captain!” the congratulated answers.  “What do you think, Keithy boy? Too outdated for your cool mullet? It’s from your times, after all...”

Keith raises a hand to shut him up.

“Hush. I’m trying to listen”  

“You don’t know it?”  Hunk asks. Keith shakes his head and tries to listen with more intensity, wanting to know what the song is about, feeling like if he doesn’t, he’ll miss something, he’s missing something out and -

“Yeah, pump the jam pump it up,” starts singing Lance. He’s out of rhythm and making a weird fake voice. It’s every inch of ridiculous but, in its loud pitch, shuts up the voice in Keith’s head that says he doesn’t belong.

And then he starts feeling the song. The bob up and down his muscles, filling him up of energy. He understands why the rest are laughing. It’s...it’s so _bizarre_ . But it makes so much sense. It’s happy. It’s silly. It just is, and it doesn’t matter how out of place it seemed to be, it _is._

“ _Pump the jam_ ” he exclaims, suddenly. It bursts out of his lungs, he didn’t want it to, he didn’t think it through but there it is. It sounds tiny and raw out of his lips. He knows his voice is raspy, he knows that he said it with flare, with a spark not all of them knew about him. He knows but -at the same time- he dares. He dares them to know. He wants them to.

The rest stop their singing to look at him with surprise and when they join, chanting loudly, Keith feels the roar of victory on his chest.

They end up pedaling in rhythm, after all.

 

***

It’s when they go back to return the pedal car to the rental place by the side of the lake, when they see it.

“Is that old lady pedaling a _boat_?” Pidge exclaims first, because she seems to have a tendency to point out the obvious like it’s some scientific fact.  

Keith is watching too, how other coloured boats move swiftly over the dull water of the lake, surrounded by ducks and gooses who look like old man trying to get kids out of their backyard. There’s also an island on the centre, all trees leafy and tall. It returns Keith to Fantasía, that imaginary land of one of his childhood’s books, somewhere all dreams came true and orphans got turned into heroes. Lands full and vast, ready to be explored.

“Uh. Lance?” Hunk brings him out of his daze, the big guy’s gaze pierced on his friend’s face  “You are scaring me with that expression buddy, please, whatever’s on your mind, _no_.”

The boy in question’s face is contorted in an devilish smirk that should be impossible in a human being’s face but here it is.

“Listen up, my people!” he exclaims, throwing his arms up in the air in a theatrical manner. Keith hears a faint  “oh no” coming from Pidge but pays it no mind. There’s no chance this can’t be that bad, right?  “Who’s up for a friendly boat race?”

And he was wrong. It _is_ that bad.

“Lance, can’t we just go back to our place under the trees back with Allura and Coran and play cards or something?” Hunk asks, no, begs. He’s got this resigned and pained look and from Keith’s perspective, he already knows he lost this argument.

“Why not, Hunk?” Lance retorted. The opposition only seems to encourage him more.  “We are in another country! Let’s live an adventure!”

Hunk shakes his head.

“Those things seem unstable! I don’t want to get queasy...I’m sorry, buddy, I’m out of this one” he says, patting his best friend in the back and going to their spot under the tree. Lance sighs and looks at the others hopefully.

“Shiro, say something, you are the adult! Stop him.” Pidge commands, hiding behind his back. The man’s eyes open wide and he does this thing he does when he’s very immature and doesn’t want to be caught. He flees.

Keith is not surprised.

“You’ve been abandoned, Pidge.” smirks Lance, like if a grown-ass adult hasn’t sprinted away in a childish manner. Keith actually wonders if he expected the unexpectable — he’s only known Shiro for a few days and seemingly he had fallen on his “mature adult” façade. Now, he has doubts “Well, let’s do this!”

Pidge on the other hand is staring shocked in the direction Shiro fled.

“What… _what the fuck_ ” she is muttering over and over. Then she stops, noticing she’s being stared at and very solemnly states “I’ve been betrayed.”

That’s the last coherent thing Keith hears from her, because she’s sprinting after his roommate's retreating form screaming for revenge with a rage so immense it shouldn’t fit her tiny body.

Wow.

“WELL KEITH!” Lance has seemingly recovered from the shock quicker than Keith and his general enthusiasm is now directed at him. “Boat race to the death. You and me. What do you say?”

No, of course not.

“To the death?” Keith’s stupid mouth says instead. He hates water. He has the average swimming skills to survive an extreme situation — like drowning for chasing Nessie or falling into the river while trying to pick up a fancy rock. It has happened to him. The rock situation, not Nessie’s. He doesn’t have the money to get to Scotland.

“To the death.” Lance very seriously nods. Then he stops and squeezes his face with his hand thoughtfully  “If you count falling into the lake full of goose poop as death, which in my opinion runs pretty close.”

Every thought in Keith’s brain is screaming that this is a bad, bad idea. _He hates water._

“You’re on,” he blurts out instead. Because he’s bored and he’s got nothing better to do and that smirk on Lance’s face? This is a challenge, he has seen it before.

“Oh man, this is going to be awesome” Lance smiles

***

“THIS TOTALLY SUCKS” Lance is shouting half an hour later over and over besides Keith. Their idea was rent two pedal boats but apparently, single _biciscafos_ (apparently what this type of boat is called) doesn’t exist. Only double. And here they are, trying to get in tune to pedal at the same time, unable to race because they are both on the same vehicle, all the time while looking like that old married couple waving at them from their own shared boat.

Keith agrees. This sucks. Sun is hitting him just right in the face and he’s sure there’s a sunburn all over his shoulders. He regrets now leaving his jacket behind with Coran and Allura and being in his tank top is biting back at him.

“Why don’t you pedal faster instead of complaining?” he grumbles because honestly, Lance’s constant whining is making his head ache.

“You’d be complaining too if you were sharing a boat with yourself!” Lance’s offended response is. And high pitched.

“I share a life with myself. I think I got plenty used to it,” Keith tiredly answers, without really registering his own words. That makes Lance shut up.

They kind of stare at each other in shared surprise and stop pedalling.

The silence extends and Keith is immediately hit with the situation: the boat suspended in the middle of the lake. The trees of the shore and the faint, deafened sounds of the kids playing in it. The calm, rythmic sound of the water gently crashing against the boat. His words.

“Dude.” Lance says, face unusually blank.Keith arches an eyebrow in curiosity and motions him to continue  “Mood. Like, that’s an awfully emo response for a joke but _mood,”_ he finishes with a grin and it’s contagious so Keith can’t help the shy smile growing on him too.

“Well. Look at us. I’m glad we are bonding over shared low self esteem,” he states and Lance laughs in response.

“As I said. _Emo,”_  he says and then starts pedalling again

“ _Hey!_ ” Keith protests, rendered speechless.

“See, you can’t even deny it!”

“I’m not emo!”

“You soooo are! You’ve got this bad-boy emo vibe going on! You’re not fooling anyone, Keith!” Lance is smiling so wide, like a child who won a raffle or something.

“Oh, knock it off!” He says, giving him a little shove with his shoulder. Lance lets out a dramatic shout and grabs his shoulder, face twisting in faked pain.

“ _Ow_! You hurt me, Keith!”

“I did not!”

“You so did! Come closer and take a look then,” Keith does exactly that and is when he’s facing Lance’s shoulder and he feels the movement, he knows he made a mistake.

The  “injured” boy shoves him with both hands, hard enough to unbalance him but not enough to knock him off the boat. It’s a turning point. This is war.

“Oh, it’s on!” Keith roars and the battle begins.

“C’mon, Keithy boy! Not even my nephews can fall into that trap!” Lance is cackling. Keith gives him a hard shove and his laugh subsides, now replaced with a  confident smile that screams _competition_. The boat sways a little. This is familiar. This is usual, rutinary but so so extraordinary at the same time.

Lance pushes back then, catching any snarky response Keith had prepared on his throat. The boat trembles.

Keith’s answer sparks a push and pull in which no one can see who is winning, just trying to hold on. They are hand against hand now, trying to unbalance the other, putting all their force and minds on shoving and pushing and saying as much ridiculous insults as they can. It’s stupid,it’s nothing, it’s everything, it’s _fun._

That is, until the boat can’t take any more swaying and rolls over, sending them both off its comfy, dry surface to the filthy, dark depths of the lake.

For a second, Keith can’t see anything at all. Just feel the cold water against his face, filling his lungs, muddled up, smelly, deep deep deep

Then he’s grabbed and pushed upwards and darkness comes to light and light shines in Lance’s face, dark and open and smiling wide, looking not an inch worried of being neck deep in a lake full of goose poop, as he stated before.

It’s his smiling face and his laugh the moment he affirms, like it is the most natural thing in the world to continue the conversation like nothing happened:

“I told you it’d be to the death” and then he’s laughing openly and even though Keith is soaked to the bone and he _hates_ water and the sun is still hitting him openly and he hates sunburns, well, he laughs too.

**

Climbing back to the boats is not an easy task. It’s slippery and they fall over a few times. Keith keeps trying to impulsively climb over and over and he fails every time.

Lance stops him.

“We can’t keep doing it this way. You are just jumping randomly with the hope of landing it” he says and Keith -even if he’s scowling because _he just wants to get up the boat and out of the water dammit -_ actually listens.

“What do you suggest then?’’ he asks, genuinely clueless.

“Thinking it through, at least? How about...’’ he trails off, staring pointedly at the boat and then he perks up, determined “ I boost you up and you help me climb from above?’’

He turns to look at Keith now and his gaze is serious, making him feel the weight of trust, heavier than the gravity pulling him underwater.

It’s a new look, one Keith can’t pin down, not really. It makes him feel important, proud because, even after all of their bickering, Lance actually is counting on his help, relying on it. Relying on _him_.

It’s a new look, but Keith receives it with open arms, like clean air, like blue skies.

So, without parting his eyes from Lance’s, he nods.

“Awesome” the other breathes out and this foreign confidence spreads through Keith’s lungs like wildfire.

They can do this.

Lance joins his hands and holds Keith arm while he tries to climb to use it as a ladder. The extra strenght and the calm grasp gives him just the impulse he needed— he makes it.

“Okay now, buddy,” Lance calls from below. It’s honestly a wonder how the boy hasn’t yelped in pain, his arms must me hurting for the effort. Keith knows he isn’t exactly thin. “Now, as precisely as you can, to the count of three, use the leverage and jump.”

“Got ya,” Keith murmurs and prepares himself. Lance takes a breath in and starts counting

“One”

“Two”  

“Three!’’ they say in unison and, like a perfect oiled machine, like they’ve done this before, all across the time and space, in all universes, Lance pushes up and Keith _jumps._

A beat passes, painfully slow.

He’s suspended mid-air.

Before his sight, sunlight glistens on the lake’s surface under, welcoming and threatening, an ocean of flames. The greens, blues and greys melt against each other in quiet, paused tandem. Behind the trees, he can see the tallest buildings of the city, he can hear the rumble of the train passing nearby, he can taste the cotton candy that some vendor is offering to the kids playing in the park.

Breath is caught in his throat.

He remembers where he is and, for a nanosecond, he panics.

He won’t make it, will he?

He lands.

Solid surface.

He breathes out.

Lance’s victorious whooping snaps him out into reality.

“Well done!” he’s saying. Keith scoots closer to the edge of the boat and crouches down so they are face to face, though at different levels. Lance grins up at him from the water, where he’s still trying to keep floating.

Wordlessly, Keith extends his hand to him.

Lance takes it.

They lock hands.

It takes little force to help Lance up and aboard - and Keith hates how he notices, how he’s hyper-aware of everything right now, of the touch’s simplicity, of the sound of his heartbeat pounding against his ears— solist voice in the religious silence.

They lock eyes.

Lance is up and safe, looking at him so open, so softly, so trusting. Looking at him like Keith mattered, like he was the oxygen that kept alive a drowning man. Why every gaze feels different when Lance is involved? Why this one strikes Keith down, leaving him defenseless?

“We did it” Lance simply says, voice low and deep. He’s soaked to the bone, his wet hair plastered to his forehead but the corners of his eyes are crinkling in what is, the realization dawns in Keith, a fond look. “We are a good team,” he sighs, so quietly that if they weren’t so close it could be missed; and then he’s smiling so earnestly, like he doesn’t notice the water dripping off him or that he is still holding Keith’s hand, who feels a sudden rush of _everything_ and warmth warmth warmth as he smiles back, without think or doubt, just trusting.

**

The group mocks them when they arrive to their sitting spot under the trees, wet from head to toes. Every single out of them. Even Hunk, as he hands them a sandwich and a towel first ( “that lake is filthy, guys!”). Shiro? Not a surprise. But Hunk!? Terrible, tragical, pathetic.

“We recorded it all” Pidge tells, a malicious smirk in her lips. What did Keith do to deserve this? Nothing, probably but he was with Lance and Lance probably pissed Pidge off a thousand times so yeah, he deserves it by extension.  “Even the part in which you manage to get back on the boat separately and slip again...!”

A twin groan from both Keith and Lance interrupts the retelling of their just-lived story, thank you very much Pidge for the info, they were there.

“What I can’t believe is,” Allura steps in, amusement still present in her eyes,  “how the rental place guy let you off the hook. You didn’t follow the rules, after all.”

Lance smiles at that, scratching his neck in embarrassment at the still present memory of the guy yelling at them.

“Well, we might have…” he starts saying and Keith clears his throat to interrupt him, making him change his wording  “ _I_ might have left the conversation to Keith.”

Shiro chokes on the juice he’s drinking. Coran absentmindedly pats him on the back.

“And I know shit of spanish and even less when someone’s screaming at me…” Keith smiles wickedly at Shiro, who very much knows that fact and is still coughing up on his own spit  “So I might have answered to him in korean.”

The group lets out a collective laugh.

“Anywaaay! We’re not little shits and apologized for the accident! He even forgave us the penalty fee!” Lance finishes and then turns to Keith “I might say, though, than when we started getting some teamwork, we didn’t slip while getting onto the boat so good work to us!” He then extends his fist, grinning, waiting on Keith to bump it.

Keith just stares back and forth from the fist to his face with a blank expression. It’s not his fault, he’s still dizzy and he really doesn’t get the point of what Lance is doing.

Lance’s grin falters but his expression sharpens

“We’ll work on it” he assures him. Keith pointedly ignores the warmth creeping back up.

“Hey Lance,” Pidge calls, furrowing her brows in thought while sipping on her mate, a few feet away from the scene and over her spot under the tree and over the blanket  “Did you say a penalty fee?”

“Yeah.”

“Those don’t exist. Those rental places are barely legal. You were almost scammed, you dumbass.”

**

When the sun falters, they end up walking over to the island. There’s a little bridge to crosses it and the place is even smaller, even though quite pretty. They sit on a few fallen trees, close to the shore, hearing the birds chirping and the sky a sight to be remembered: The sun is setting and melting behind the trees at the distance, it’s rays shining over the lake’s surface. It paints everything red.

Lance looks over at him in-between the silence. The rest of the group is divided in pairs or trios and are talking quietly.

“I didn’t really mean it,” he says, slowly. Keith has a second of fleeting panic in which, for some ridiculous reason, he thinks Lance is referring to their… bonding moment. Oh, god, since when is he thinking of it like _that_!?

“What thing?” he asks anyway. Lance doesn’t immediately responds. He just looks elsewhere, blue eyes travelling beyond the horizon, where the sun dies its golden death. He’s not looking at Keith directly, not in the eye, not open and tender and Keith thinks that look, directed at him, just went away. Stood up and left him. Like everything always does.

It’s kind of bittersweet but he keeps going — it’s not a big deal.

Lance breathes deeply, derailing every train of thought.

“The being annoyed by your company thing. You are not that bad,” he says. Huh. That’s nice. The idea that Lance isn’t repulsed by his company, that he might even _enjoy it_ warms him. Making friends was never easy for Keith but maybe, maybe here’s a start. It’s a game he was never good at but look at this, here is Lance, looking at him openly, like he expects him to join.

So he tries and plays along.

“Thanks, Lance. You are not that bad either.”

  
  
  


***

When they finally get back to the PH, they are a tired crew. Coran promptly throws the lounge chairs on the patio with no care, startling Cachita the cat who was snoozing under the new moon. There’s a certain charm to the way light catches the shape of the tiles, the stern promise of rest and vigile the doors hold, the unknown mystery that is the spiral staircase that leads to Pidge, Hunk, and Lance’s home.

Because, yes, in the three days he’s been living at the PH or in the day a week ago he met them, he hasn’t stepped into the trio’s apartment. It’s not that they aren’t welcoming or warm, it’s not that they didn’t invite him. It’s just that he can’t help feeling a certain danger about being invited up, like intruding in someone else’s life. They are so homely and fit so well with each other and who is he in that picture? So tiptoes around and gives half-hearted excuses to not go up.

Shiro lets out a big yawn and marches directly to his room and into their apartment, waving affectionately to everyone first. Keith follows him more slowly, paying more attention to the sounds of the trio loudly climbing the stairs and Allura humming to her pet mouse while she feeds them from her window.

The apartment PB A is surely a luxury compared to all the places Keith have been living in. From foster homes, to a shack in the desert (long story), and the dorm rooms back at Oregon, none of them compare to the high ceilings and big windows his new place displays. It’s a bit old and maybe it needs a cleaning or two but it’s so overwhelmingly _nice_ that Keith expects someone to burst in and tell him this was a mistake, this isn’t where he’s staying.

It’s too tetric of a thought after a very pleasant afternoon so he lets it pass by and heads straight to his room.

Because, between all the parts of this apartment he shares with Shiro, he kinda likes his room the most. It’s his, only his and he happens to have a big window that faces the common patio of the building. It’s a bit of a nuisance this time of the day - the chilly air seizes the recently born night and seeps in between the ajar glass and cools the room-  but it’s okay. This way he breathes easier.

In a few words, his room is messy. He moved in days ago and - while he doesn’t have a lot of things to carry around, he doesn’t have the furniture to organise it. Clothes are all over the bed and a chair and his books are over a desk that Allura provided. This building is equipped for students, after all, so the apartment includes basic furniture in the kitchenette like a fridge, a microwave, tables, chairs and beds with their respective clothing.  The wall has a wardrobe included, facing the door, but he needs to think out a _system_ before getting it all in. Oh, who is he kidding. He’s just postponing the tedious chore.

He heads over to the only bedside table he owns, next to the single bed and picks up his camera scattered in-between art supplies, notebooks and pens. It’s an old thing but he bought it with his first salary ever, a few years ago.

It stuck around since then, quite unused because who would he photograph? He tried dead nature and the scenery for a while but Oregon got too small and there’s so many photos of stripped cars he can take before getting bored.

Maybe it’s time to start using it more.

He blows the dust off, feeling like this is a turning point. Is is really that important, taking a simple picture of a messy room in the evening light?

It feels transcendental, a need of capturing the calm sensation that’s installed in his body, in his lungs, so it abandons him, so he never forgets.

It’s returning to an old temple, putting his eye in the viewfinder. He breathes in, trying to consume himself  in the scene behind it. The window ajar, full with stray plants that slept their days off on it’s frame, light coming in, passing through the glass and washing the empty cream colored walls with care, discovering the scattered clothes, the old three legged chair, the bed unmade.

He clicks the shutter.

“Hey Keith, are you there? Oh, here you are!“ A loud voice startles him, breaking him away from the camera, from the viewfinder and from the picture just taken.  He throws it on the bed on instinct.

It’s Lance, curiously peering at him from the other side of the window. Or, well, he’s watching his room, eyes wide like he have just discovered a new planet. And maybe he did.

“I’m here,” Keith calls, feeling his voice raspy from the surprise and very much aware that he had been hiding in the shadows of his room like a weirdo.

“Yes, now I see you - and I see your room too!” the other one comments, finishing his sentence with a whistle.

“Is it really that bad?” C’mon, he’s tired. It can’t be _that_ messy.

“Well…” Lance trails off, arm scratching his neck,  “yeah.”

Keith lets out a puff of air, exasperated - at himself or at the dark skinned boy, he doesn't know.

“My mom would probably throw a fit. And my sister. Aaand her husband, but those two are kind of maniacs with hygiene so I don’t know if they count. My dad is usually messy but he’s the _best_  at organizing clothes. He always says he has a system but my Ma says it’s more of a obsession of his. To each their own, I guess…”  

He blinks at him, confused. Woah, that was a lot of information.

“I’m sorry, I think that what I meant was,” Lance breathes in and, when he exhales, he’s wearing a little smile,  “want some help?”

Keith looks at him, then at the clothes and then back at him again.

“Yes, please,” He hopes it doesn’t sounds like begging, but that’s practically what it is. Lance seems to take it well, because he smiles wide now, opens the window a little more and then _jumps_ through it, like it’s _nothing_ .  He can do it too, probably but that doesn’t mean he _thought_ about it. It’s not a bad option for entering, now that he thinks. Doors are pretty inconvenient sometimes.

“Okay!” The boy exclaims when he gracefully lands on his feet before Keith’s amazed gaze.  “You are receiving the help from the best cloth-bender out there, oh helpless citizen! Worry not! After my presence, your homes will no longer reek of mullet and disorganization!”

“Hey! It’s not a mullet and it smells good!” Keith protests, trying very hard to not sniff his own hair to check if it does reek.

“I know, I know. Truth’s hard to accept but you’ll come around” The other dismisses him with a bat of his hands and then puts his hand on his chin, dramatically thoughtful.  “Where can we start?”

The chore is, well, tedious, but they pass through it quickly between banter and unnecessary competition. Folding clothes with Lance it’s easy, it’s foreign and familiar at the same time. It’s a light feeling and Keith can’t help but wonder if this is how every day is upstairs.

He resists the impulse to ask.

And it’s folding a sock that have been forgotten under the window, when Lance notices.

“Hey, man,” he calls.

Keith looks up from trying to hide his Power Rangers boxers.

Lance smiles at him when he looks at the bundle in his hands but surprisingly misses the very good opportunity to tease him and signals up instead.

“Your window is under mine. Like, _exactly_ under mine.” He says, expression amused.

“What?” Keith dumbly asks.

“Come, look” He motions him to stand where he is, out of the window and up, where you can indeed see a window open wide between the shadows, blue-ish curtains waving in and out.

“Oh, this is going to be so funny”

“Are you gonna throw eggs at me every time I come out for air or something like that?”

“No!” Lance’s voice breaks and he looks plenty indignant.

“Honestly, Lance. I would have expected you to be a good neighbour,” he deadpans, looking at Lance smugly.

The man is speechless but his face is contorted in a ridiculous way and that makes teasing him a thousand times funnier. Oh god, he takes everything so _literally._

“What would Allura think?” Keith adds and he lets his voice get a little more dramatic and his grin a little wider.  “Remember, Lance, you should not interfere with her holy business by throwing nasty things to the new people.”

He recovered. He can see it because now Lance’s grin matches his and he’s looking at him with that familiar glint of competition on his blue eyes he should have really be used at by now but it still raises adrenaline up to his gut.

“Oh, who said something about nasty things, Kogane?”

Keith in response just raises an eyebrow.

Lance dramatically pauses.

“I’m thinking a conspiracy” he whispers, getting closer. Keith takes a step back but doesn’t let himself get quiet by the surprise.

“Explain” he demands.

“Well, at least the others will think that’s what it is. I’ll just be swinging down random notes.”

“Why?”

“Because it’ll be fun! Like playing secret agents!”

“Why?”

“C’mon Keith, what’s the harm?”

“If you hypothetically do that,”  Keith says abruptly  “how would I answer?”

“Hm.” Lance puts a hand on his chin thoughtfully.  “We’ll sort that out, agent. But until then, await for further messages.”

And then he makes his best imitation of a spy pose, body still and eyes narrowed and attentive, mouth pursed, forming a gun with his hands.

He doesn’t even give him the space to argue so Keith just gives up – even though he’s still confused – and moves on to throw a sweater at Lance’s dramatic face. It’s more comfortable than thinking of the fact that he’s going to wake up every morning with a note from Lance on his window.

They keep folding until they run out of clothes to fold. Then they keep talking, about nothing, about everything. Lance tells stories of his family, of how his siblings tricked him a lot when they were children, of the home he had back at Cuba, by the beach, an old house surrounded by plants and sea breeze.

Keith, more quietly, more reserved, more scared of sharing the fact that he didn’t have those childhood stories, _not really_ , tells him about Shiro, about how he bumps into everything and apologizes, even if they are objects (“With those buff arms he bumps into everything?” “I had to replace a lamp three times” “oh my god”). They talk until it’s too late to keep talking without words turning into secrets (night is the land where secrets lay bare, after all) and they say their good-byes, laughter still hanging on the air.

The camera stays on the bed, forgotten. On it’s screen, there’s a picture: the messy room, Keith’s world, its window ajar, full with stray plants that slept their days off on it’s frame, light coming in, passing through the glass and brightening Lance’s face, intruder on the scene by chance, hopefully peering inside. The perfect still metaphore of Keith's own world.

(The first note comes the morning after, attached to a string, waving behind his closed window.

 _“Agent 99”_ it reads _“i am glad ‘mission: clean your nasty room’ is finally complete. good work. await for more missives - Agent 86”_

Keith doesn’t quite get _why_ those numbers were chosen but he does get one thing: this is not the last note _whatsoever_. He ignores the feeling the thought produces him over hanging his head out of the window to shout an ironic answer to Lance, whose own window is open and most probably can hear him.

Another string falls down in response. He doesn’t even bother to unattach the note from it, just directly reads it.

 _“Agent 99: i can only communicate through this medium or face to face. secret agent reasons. -agent 86”_ it says. Keith doesn’t stop the frustrated growl that comes out and he can hear Lance laughing upstairs.  )

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly feel like this is my best chapter this far! Hope youn enjoyed it as much as I do writing it!  
> Language notes weren't included since I kind of explained the concepts _in_ the fic but if you have any doubt, be sure to tell me!  
>  Dude, if someone comments on this fic I'm probably going to sob out of happiness,,,,,  
> Until next time!


	4. rompiste el cristal en mi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is definitely _not_ Lance's day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from [''Don'' ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eap0G9ldKc0)by Miranda!
> 
> The chapter is here! And it's almost 10k! What the hell!
> 
> Big thank you to [Parisa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stellarparallax/works) for beta'ing this chapter!
> 
> (Translations are at the bottom notes)

 

Lazy mornings are a bliss. As every day lately, Buenos Aires wakes Lance up with bright, warm sunlight and the sky only get clearer as the hours passed.

It should have calmed him from the start, good weather brings good mood and all that, but there’s something throbbing in between his skull and his brain, an uneasiness that doesn’t pass when he takes his coffee, doesn’t go away when he jumps down on the living room’s couch, his all time preferred place in the apartment to chill. Like, _brain, dude_ what the FUCK is going on.

It’s probably this assignment and its due date bothering him. History classes are a requirement and luck made him take it the first semester abroad.

Don’t get him wrong, learning about Argentinian history from the country’s point of view is actually quite cool and surprising — especially because he _had no idea whatsoever_ about it. C’mon, he barely knew “Che” Guevara was from here… and that’s a subject that back at home his family doesn’t touch. A subject he learned to respect, to keep away from and to preserve in between his heartstrings for someday when history isn’t a tool to defend or attack someone with an underlying interested reason — someday, in some universe where history is a fair, judging gaze.

Argentinian history has a lot of this. But it’s also confusing, president after president, in disorder, getting thrown away like used, worthless rags and being replaced by a militar who calls himself “presidente de facto”. Lance’s jumbled mind confuses names and dates like pieces of a mismatched puzzle and his enthusiasm was stuck somewhere along the road of dreamland. And this, this _feeling._

Maybe it was the fact that his mom didn’t wake him up today. Or hasn’t been for the past months. Maybe it was the bright, spotless, naked turquoise of the wall, a total opposite of the discoloured dark blue of his home walls. Stained and old and wet with humidity but _his._  

He stared too much at the wall this morning.

He shakes his head trying to calm down. Maybe it’s inactivity, yeah. He can’t hold still and calm for a second, can he? His brain never shuts up. Always trying to battle the ghost of his thoughts shuffling in between, nagging in a sharp but oh so familiar tongue. Some days it’s calmer, though. Today? He feels uneasy, the feeling clinging to his skin like humidity right before the sky breaks down and rain falls down screaming in thunder.

Work. He has to work. Work work work work _work._ Some music works! Maybe Rihanna, to go along this _work_ mood. The thought makes him smile and he starts humming the song while he gets the laptop from his room and plops down on the couch again.

He writes. He erases. He writes again - unconvinced, doubtful. It’s like his brain has been disconnected from his body.  He writes more, trying to get rid of the unquiet sensation under his skin. He changes positions on the couch. None is comfortable enough.

Ugh. Why can’t he get a hold of himself?

And why can’t this computer just, _work_!? It’s so slow, so slow. Did he download something weird recently? Not that he remembers… online textbooks… Netflix… he scrolled through a lot of social media, too. But can that slow a notebook this much?

God, he really needs to get this through.

He wants to ask for a _cafecito_ so bad right now.  Maybe if he goes to a café? Coffee here is good, almost as good as Cuban coffee. Nah, that’s a lie, _nothing_ compares to the godly roasted treat that is Cuban coffee. But it’s not overpriced diluted garbage like the coffee shops in Oregon.

Pidge comes in from the kitchen with a mate, a perfect depiction of a zombie, and tries to wiggle in the couch.

“Move your bony ass,” she grunts and Lance doesn’t even flinch, she’s like this every single morning, and it’s _almost eleven._ He always suffers when he has to wake her up at 6. _That_ is scary

“It isn’t bony and you know it,” he dares to retort and Pidge just peers at him from her curtain of messy hair and yawns like he said the most boring thing in the world.

“Whatever,” she settles with and she plops over him and starts to push his legs out with her butt. Which _is_ bony. _Rude._ Lance tries pressing the keyboard harder, maybe that can make everything less slow.

“You can just ask politely, geez,” he mutters, moving to leave her space and trying to find a comfortable position to work on again. She settles in, sipping tiredly the straw of her mate, her brain probably just waking up thanks to the drink.

He knows her and she’s probably already plotting something with the first lights of consciousness.

Lance wonders when is she going to realize she left the thermos at the kitchen.

“--shit,” he hears not even a second later after he thought it and tries to smother down the smug grin as she stands up.

“I can see you smiling, idiot,” she mumbles without heat while she drags her feet back from to the kitchen, thermos in one hand and mate in the other. Then she plops down on the couch with a heavy sigh, “Do you want some or not?”

Lance nods and bends forward only his torso so he can sip without casting his eyes off the assignment or interrupting his typing. He _feels_ Pidge rolling her eyes as she holds the mate. Hah.

The drink helps him wake up some section of his brain almost instantly but unfortunately it doesn’t shut up the feeling he’s stuck or fastens his stupid, garbage, _dumb_ computer.

“Why can’t you just - _work_!?” Lance smashes a fist against the keyboard, frustration creeping up inside him. Maybe if he could finish his work his brain could calm down. But no, his laptop is pulling this asshat move on him. This stupid karma. This crap maneuver.

He tries hitting the keyboard again, now out of pure spite.

Pidge lets out a resigned whine from the other side of the couch and makes grabby hands for the computer.

“Okay, okay, I’ll check it...” she says. Lance makes a happy sound of surprise in response and gives it to her. “But please, stop hitting it like that. It’s painful.”

“It’s the operative system thingy, right?” He asks while she presses the keys at an inhuman speed. Wasn’t she dead on her feet a few minutes ago?

The wonders of _mate_ , dude. Pidge’s awake just an hour after getting out of bed.

“Adding  “thingy” to the phrase doesn’t change anything. I _know_ you know what you are saying. I don’t understand why you keep up the act of being dumb,” she mutters and leaves her task for a second to bat his hand away from the screen.  “You are just lazy with programming.”

Oh, now she’s awake _alright._

“I don’t know whether to be offended or not,” he splutters, face reddening and biting back the current of annoyance that’s prickling at his chest. Pidge pays him no mind and keeps working on the computer with a scowl.

“God, your computer is full of _garbage_ . Can’t you at least check your porn so it doesn’t bring viruses, Lance!?” she exclaims and he feels himself getting even redder. He doesn’t watch porn! It’s just a joke, _it’s just a joke_ , he has to tell himself. Just a joke. Chill, Lance, god.

“Har Har. You are not funny, Pidge,”  he spits out, trying to leave the malice out of his voice.

“You know what else isn’t funny? _Malware_ ,” she retorts.

Lance opens his mouth to answer something very smart like “You are malware” but his genius speech gets promptly interrupted by Hunk slamming the front door of their apartment open.

“HONEST TO GOD, I CAN’T BELIEVE MY TEACHER ASKED US THAT — ” he is shouting. He has part of his culinary classes on Tuesday mornings and he divides his week between classes for that career, for engineering and his shifts as an engineer for a local enterprise.

The big guy’s managed to multitask and both Lance and Pidge are amazed at how he doesn’t seem to break a sweat, always smiling between homework and recently baked goods. Because their friend still cooks for them, still treats them with both his cooked tries for the class and their favourite meals.

In short, Hunk is amazing.

He crosses the brief space from the doorstep in a couple strides, in front of Pidge and Lance’s amused smiles. Hunk isn’t exactly a quiet person but it’s still funny when he slams the door open to scream. And worrisome. But their first reaction still is smile out of proud smugness because _holy shit, their salt is rubbing up on him._

“-- EMPANADAS? IN A COUPLE WEEKS?  AND I’M SUPPOSED TO FILM THE PROCESS? I UNDERSTAND THIS IS AN INTEGRAL COURSE BUT _PLEASE_! THIS IS NOT A COOKING SHOW! WHAT MATTERS IT’S THE QUALITY, NOT HOW NICE IT LOOKS TO THE CAMERA! WHERE AM I SUPPOSED TO FIND---”

Hunk seems to have realised he isn’t alone and he isn’t being exactly quiet and stops in his tracks. He flicks his gaze between them and there’s something like panic straightening his spine, making him look like a deer in front of a lion.

Lance remembers then those times back at Oregon when his friend was too stressed to even walk without losing his general niceness; tiredness and pressure turning his steps heavy and loud.

The sight turns an alarm in Lance’s brain, making him push aside the buzzing of his own brain and instead focusing in his best friend.

He remembers the panic of Hunk’s face before big exams, the effort he put into not puking right there and then, trying to swallow the vertigo and the fear and he remembers exactly what he used to do back then, what he did each time they faced big changes, each mile they ascended on the crowded plane, leaving home for a foreign place.

So Lance crosses the space between his frozen friend and the couch and envelops Hunk in a big hug.

He feels how every muscle that is tensed melts, how his friend refuges himself on the embrace and holds to it for dear life.

He feels Pidge joining the hug without questioning _._

He feels Hunk coming back.

“What happened, buddy?” he asks softly, trying to not pressure too much on the subject.

“It’s something stupid, to be honest.”

“Tell us, though. We have no lives and we thrive on your drama.”  

Hunk lets out a little laugh at that and breathes deeply.

“My teacher doesn’t like me.”  He admits, quiet, shy.

It seems impossible for Lance. He doubts he heard right.

“What?” Pidge asks, as stunned as he is.

“She doesn’t! She assigned something to me, only me, and just because I am a foreigner!”

“O-kay? How so?”

“I have to record myself making a spotless batch of _empanadas_ for next week. She said it’s going to be a good assignment for me to learn the culture but it just- the way she said it- it wasn’t nice - it felt…” Hunk inhales, dropping his face in a resigned hurt expression, “ _venomous_.”

Lance and Pidge look at each other. There’s something essentially worrisome about someone being venomous with Hunk - he exudes niceness, Lance never met someone who is just as dedicated to the well being of the others as him. Maybe it’s his anxiety playing with his mind?

“Maybe… she wasn’t bitter because of something else. I doubt she has a vendetta against you. Why would that be?” He asks the big guy, who looks mildly confused at that.

“I don’t know! I-!” he exclaims and interrupts himself. They don’t see it but Lance knows, knows Hunk is biting the inside of his mouth to keep from crying. That’s not okay, Hunk is never never afraid of being emotional

“Yeah?”  Lance mumbles softly. Pidge just touches Hunk’s arm in support. He breathes in.

“It’s just so scary.”

He breathes out.

“It’s scary that I have to learn this whole new brand of recipes without even questioning them, without even giving them something of _mine_ , y’know?” he admits. His own voice seems to making him realise what’s going on and he raises his arms up in the air.

In his own worry, Lance lets out a little snort. He loves watching his friend being passionate and - honestly-  he could give a whole lecture right now.

Hunk, oblivious to his friend’s amusement, is rambling, voice tinted with indignation.

“They expect me to learn from scratch a whole gastronomical culture like I was born here. I wasn’t. I know I wasn’t - I _know_ I’m just studying here and I really want to be respectful…” he trails off.

“It’s stressing you not being able to learn at the same pace,” Lance translates.

“Yes! That’s exactly it!” Hunk’s frown turns into a full blown smile and _thank god, he’s smiling again._ He scratches his chin and his voice gets more calmed, more rational, but still deeply irritated,  “I have to learn by handbook something cooks here have by _instinct_...”

Oh.

So there’s the problem.

“Hey buddy?”  Lance calls , trying to keep his voice carefully calm. Pidge looks at him with a frown. She looks kind of lost to what is the problem too, so he decides that the best thing here is that he sits them both down.

Hunk lets himself be conducted to the couch and looks at him expectantly.

“Listen…” He breathes in. This is going to be hard, “You were always a genius at the kitchen, right?”

He perks up and smiles so brightly that Lance regrets the things he’s going to say. But if he doesn’t, he’s never going to progress.

“Yes! I baked my first batch of muffins at two!” he looks so proud. That’s one more amazing of Hunk, he’s aware he’s amazing, he needs no pretenses.

Lance needs to be direct.

“I think you are frustrated because your genius didn’t work out with this one. Because you are actually _failing_ at something instead of _fearing_ you will - what usually happens.”

He can see the moment his words dwell on Hunk, how his eyes wide with recognition, his breath hitches, his pulse quickens, every cell of his body awakes - like when he finds the wrong piece on the engine, when he solves a very difficult equation.

“Don’t get me wrong, you are a very hard-working person _. You work while balancing classes for two majors, for god’s sake,_ ” he highlights earnestly and keeps going.  “But maybe in regional food, the problem is exactly that you don’t have that _instinct_ you say and that frustrates you. Geniuses usually aren’t used to not being geniuses.”

Silence.

Woah, it’s like he can see the gears turning inside Hunk’s brain.

It’s Pidge who reacts first, though, slamming the couch with a shout and startling them both.

“OH GOD!” she exclaims, “So _that’s_ the problem!”

“Yeah, Pidgey. That’s the problem.” He nods but she doesn’t pay him attention, caught up in her own brain.

“Why didn’t I realise earlier? I’m the same way and...” she trails off with a scowl.

“Exactly.” Lance says with a grin. “That’s the problem.”

Hunk chooses just that moment to get out of his daze, get up of the couch and envelop Lance on the tightest hug he had experienced to the date.

When he releases him, he is smiling brightly - like when he receives a good grade, when Pidge is happy because of his peanut butter filled muffins, when Lance is dancing again after a period of homesickness.

“I’m going to cook those empanadas,” he says simply, but it’s enough.

Determination is shining again in his brown eyes and Lance’s work is done.

 

*

 

They sit down, after he and Pidge promise Hunk to try each one of his empanadas and give him _aprobación latina_.

Pidge keeps fiddling with his computer while Lance pesters her about it and Hunk is watching videos on his phone. All is good, it’s peaceful until the big guy perks up from YouTube to look at Lance with a worried frown.

“Don’t you start your Linguistics classes soon?” his friend asks. Lance keeps trying to touch the screen where he wants Pidge to look for updates and doesn’t stop to answer, unbothered.

“Yeah. On Tuesday afternoons. An inconvenient time if you ask me, but it doesn’t take much space, it’s just two hours...” He clicks his tongue.  “I’ll be home around 6, I think?”

“Buddy.” Hunk’s panicky tone makes Lance stop and look at him, worried. Hasn’t everything been solved? Does his friend have another problem?

“Yeah, bro?” he asks. Hunk’s face is contorted into a frown but it’s different this time. It looks both worried and terribly amused.

“It’s tuesday afternoon right now,” he states and _oh god._

“OH GOD,” he shouts, bolting up from his lazy position at the couch and sprinting for his things.  “FUCK ME. FUCK MY LIFE. FUCK EVERYTHING.”

“Ugh,” Pidge mutters, stopping her typing to look up at him. She seems bored  “Not everything, please”

“Shut up, Pidgey!” he whines, and then signals the computer she has on her hands, “It’s that thing’s fault! It didn’t work and that distracted me!”

“It’s your porn’s fault,” calmly defends it Pidge. Or should he say, the _traitor._

“Porn at one in the afternoon, Lance? Really?” teases Hunk. Another one to add to the list. He can feel himself turning bright red but _there’s no time_ and he _really_ needs to find his notebook and his pens and his left shoe.

“Here.” Traitor Number Two finds them and he’s again Best Bestie Bro-ever.

“Oh god, _I love you,_ ” he smiles, relieved and he proceeds to try putting on his shoe while jumping and getting all his school stuff on the backpack and wonderfully succeeds - _point for Lancey- Lance_.

“I love you too,” Hunk laughs and Pidge groans but she’s smiling when they envelop her in a group hug, like she always does. The gremlin frequently tries to act tough in front of affection and they all learned to see behind the facade.

Okay, he’s _really gotta go_. Breaking up from the hug, he sprints to the front door, opens it and it’s then when Hunk’s voice stops him.

“Lance,” he says. He’s still side hugging Pidge and they look so earnestly fond that he can’t help thinking _these are my friends, they are looking at me._

Each time he summons that thought, it squeezes his heart. The feeling from this morning comes back in full force.

“Yeah?” _Stop your voice for breaking, stand straighter, blink back the tears, you don’t need to be moved, you don’t need to cry just because you are grateful._

Hunk smiles.

“Thank you.” His voice is soft and he’s looking at him like he is a saviour, a hero, like he is _important_. It feels like an act.

He nods, swallows the lump in his throat, breathes in to keep his heart from squeezing and steps out.

“Anytime,” he manages to exhale, softly, eternally and, pretending a confidence he _doesn’t_ have, a substantial role he _doesn’t_ hold , he grins and closes the door.

Sunlight kisses his face in reward for a work well done.

Lance closes his eyes for a second. Focus, Lance _._

He bolts.

 

*

 

“ _Lo siento tanto, el tránsito era una pesadilla...”_ he opens wide the door of Classroom 40 of what the students here call _Puan_ , that’d be, _La Universidad de Filosofía y Letras._ It’s a big colourful building in which a lots of humanistic careers are taught - _Letras, Historia, Antropología_ and _Ciencias de la educación,_ the one that’s compatible with his Education major back at Oregon.

He honestly didn’t expect to attract that much attention.

Whoops.

Over thirty faces are staring at him, thirty one if you count the teacher’s, deeply distinguished because of her position by the board.

“Another exchange student, right?” she says in perfect english. Yup, confirmed, that’s the teacher. She must be around sixty, with a puff of long dirty blonde hair framing her wrinkled, mildly tanned face, making her look like a old lion. The thing that is more impressive - though - is her outfit. She’s sporting a long black dress shirt over the most peculiar stockings Lance has ever seen. Because there are faces there, philosopher’s cartoonish faces, there was Kant and Hobbes and Kierkegaard and…

Oh, he should probably stop staring at the teacher’s legs and answer.

“Yeah! I’m Lance! ” then he looks back at the class  “ _Mi nombre es Lance, es un gusto conocerlos. Disculpen la interrupción…_ ”

“ _Sí, sí._ ” she waves him off  “ _Por favor, andá a sentarte y dejame continuar con la clase..._ ”  Then her gaze searches the students and she points somewhere, face considerably more brightened.  “ _Ahí, al lado del otro estudiante de intercambio,”_ she indicates.

He makes a quick salute as a thanks and walks to the empty seat she pointed out. Busy with passing in between the seats and not bumping everyone in his search, he doesn’t really register who is sitting besides him until he’s already settled and he turns his head to the left and—

“Uh, hi.” Keith dumbly says with his dumb face and his dumb little smile and his dumb awkward wave. He’s very close to the only window the classroom has so the mid-afternoon sunlight washes him in completely and he looks so in his element and—

 _Tell me why, brain, must thou think about that!?_ Must be jealousy, he could never look that good, ever, never. Nu-uh.

“Hey,” he says, and cringes at how disappointed his voice sounds.

Okay, it’s not that he doesn’t enjoy Keith’s company. He’s gotta admit. he’s sometimes a cool guy but this is _special territory_ . This is the old minefield, the classroom, where Lance and Keith compete for the best grade. It’s an ancient custom and the last thing he needs after witnessing Hunk having a breakdown, his computer near death and getting really late on his first day of a very important class. He’s drained. He isn’t in the rivalry mood that he should be. This situation isn’t helping. It shouldn’t be a big deal but it _feels like it._

“I’m sorry I’m not with my head in the game today.” He decides to apologize. It’s been a few weeks since the occupants of PB A moved in and, honestly, it wasn’t that _bad_ . Mainly because Lance and his roommates have spent all this time studying, working or just lazily hanging out on their couch with some videogames — something Keith and Shiro are totally welcome to do, by the way, if Keith graces them with something as simple as _walking upstairs and visiting_ . But oh, no, he’s too busy for that, too important for something as low as playing video games on a ratty couch. Yeah, Lance admits it’s not a luxury but he _saw_ Keith’s room, okay? He doesn’t need luxuries, he needs a good aspirator and a haircut. The haircut is unrelated to the room, it’s not like the room needs a haircut, he just meant—

“Hey, Lance, did you hear me?” The mullet King was talking to him. Oh, no, he didn’t catch a thing.

“Oh, no, sorry. As I said, out of my game today. What did you say?” he asks. Keith gives him a worried look, eyes glinting, specks of lights falling over him and—

He’s talking.

“Uh, I said that sorry for bothering you but can you translate me a few things she’s saying?” His face is scarlet now, like he’s too embarrassed for asking that and Lance remembers that first night not that long ago- when he helped him, when they fought, when…

They are rivals, aren’t they? This is the minefield. Out there, in the PH, they can be cordial, they can be friendly. In here, they should be competing.

So shouldn’t he take advantage of Keith’s disadvantage? Shouldn't he refuse to help? _Does he want to?_

“What do you want me to translate?” he blurts out before he can finish that train of thought. In Keith’s face he finds the answer. “Oh, your spanish hasn’t improved much, has it?”

Suddenly, the girl in front of them turns around to face them and gestures with her arms, expression twisted in a scowl. She shushes them loudly and without waiting for their response, and turns back to the front.

Keith and Lance look to each other alarmed.

A beat passes between their wide eyes, their contained breaths.

Another beat passes by.

They dissolve into a (quiet) fit of giggles.

 _Oh well,_ he thinks while he huddles his desk closer to Keith’s so the other can check out his notes _It wouldn’t be fair if I won only because I know the language. Competition will be better this way._

(He ignores the voice that insists that’s an excuse)

 

*

 

“ _Una vez un alumno mío de secundaria me dijo que la actividad económica principal de la Selva Amazónica era la ganadería. En la Selva Amazónica! Todo lo que podía imaginarme era una vaca colgándose entre las lianas en medio de la selva como una especie de Tarzán ungulado!”_ The story finishes in a fit of laughter from the class, which prompts a smile from the professor. Even Lance, who feels still down ( _why doesn’t the feeling just, go away_ ) grins amused at the anecdote.

Risolía is quite the eccentric teacher. Frankly, she could give Coran a run for his money. In the field of History - latin american history , Lance still doesn’t get why the _hell_ Keith is in this class - she flows easily. Airy, an old nymph ready to fly, to get blown away by the wind, by a sudden dream.

She has the habit of talking about nonsense she remembers in the middle of lecture, because being a teacher of seventeen high school groups at the same time every year gives her a good load of ridiculous stories to tell to her grown-ups, the stressed college students.

She’s strict, though. He understands why the other classmate reacted like that to their mumbling. Risolía takes no shit. _Silencio o nada._ She once stopped the whole class just to stare at a couple that were murmuring lovey dovey things to each other until they got too embarrassed under her hard gaze and shut up completely — they were annoying, Lance gives her that, but they weren’t _that_ loud, just too mushy.

The teacher dislikes two things: background noise and trash. Yes, literal trash. She made a guy who left an opened, empty cookies wrapping on the floor take it and walk over the bin to dump it.  

Cool woman.

“Hey, Lance,” Keith’s hushed voice asks. They’ve been already screamed at for making noise and the other man has talked even _lower_ ever since. It must be a little frightening, being furiously nagged in Spanish without even understanding what are you being told.

Half the time Keith has to huddle very close to Lance’s ear to make his words clear and Lance -who is usually a touchy person - can’t help but feeling unnerved at the sudden loss of space in between. He blames it on the change of mood — this is a place for rivalry, after all.

“Yes?” he mutters, trying to not mouth his words too much.

“Did she just draw a global map on the board?” the tone of disbelief in Keith’s voice produces Lance the irresistible need to laugh. Oh god. He purses very tight his mouth to contain the snicker and nods.

“Fuck,” bluntly curses the other. He makes a brief pause, like he’s thinking very hard. Then, seriously says “Italy kinda looks like a dildo.”

Oh my god. He has to puff his cheeks to contain the very hard need to cackle loudly. Because, _what the fuck_ , it _does_ look like a dildo. Risolia is a _boss_ but she draws _as shit._

“What do you think, Lance?” Keith asks, in the same earnest and oblivious manner. The alluded breathes in, breathes out and silently asks death to claim him. No, no, he’s dying of laughter and the little cute smile Keith is giving him makes him wanna scream. Is _this_ Wonder-boy Kogane? Or has his mullet been scientifically cloned or something into shy human being? Because he remembers. He remembers _that_ Kogane very well.

The memory makes his breath get caught on his throat. He doesn’t feel like laughing anymore, something is tucked inside his chest, making him feel like he’s stuck somewhere else. Because he remembers, he remembers _he remembers_.

And Keith keeps staring at him, like they weren’t in a battlefield, like competition never existed, like there was never a drift and Keith was never better than him. Does that possibility even exist?

Lance is in a downward spiral, he knows he is. He woke up with this _feeling_ and wasn’t even able to fucking manage it. He should have erased it. But the only thing he can do is push it aside. He tries and tries and tries and does not succeed. He can’t even control his despair over seeing Keithin his space, in his class, like he belongs in Lance’s life, like if everything...everything...

He's in a spiral.

God, god, god, he should get a fucking grip. His thoughts have been all over the place since the morning and this can't be happening. Not in front of him, not in front of the whole classroom. He felt it that morning, the buzzing, the distant thoughts, the partial _everything_. Oh, god-  and the dullness, he should have seen this coming, honestly. Since he woke up his thoughts have been brief, automatized descriptions of his surroundings. Now he knows, now he knows. It's too late to try and counteract it. It's awfully, ridiculously late.

_This is one of those days._

And it's not the time to realise it, for god's sake. Keith is right here! His rival! His ally! His truce-buddy! The person he wants to be friends with!

_Oh_

Another thing he should have seen coming. Damn.

What is Keith going to think? It's probably been more than a minute of silence, isn't it? Is Keith going to think he’s a weirdo? Is he going to be mad? Should he laugh it off?

The boy in question is watching him, gaze confused. Fuck this, fuck it all, he fucked it up. All he does is fuck up things, fuck up friendships...

''Lance...'' he mutters and maybe he bored him, maybe he annoyed him, maybe now Keith thinks he's weak, ''Are you okay?''

There's nothing worse than pity.

And it's all over Keith's face.

He nods. What else can he do?

Now Lance is painfully aware of where he is, hyper connected with his surroundings. Everything's still the same. Argentina. Classroom. Teacher. Students. Faces. People. Faces. Faces. Eyes. Nose. Freckles. Face. Face. Hair. Keith.

Over and over and over and over.

And he's fine, he's still, back straight, staring at the blackboard and counting down the seconds under his breath so he can finally go home and sleep all this bad feelings off. He wants to run so bad. Run away and feel the wind on his face and maybe run so hard, so fast he finally gets home -- get under his blankets, feel the cotton, the swift pull of sleep.

He wants so many things but he's stuck here.

And maybe this is important, he's doing important things, he's studying, to become a better person, a  better... better... better ... _something_.

Yeah, it's important to be something.

He's sitting perfectly still but he's unquiet. Like he could escape on any second from under his skin. Like he could just, woosh, go away, like pulled by a wave, salt and water healing it, the restlessness.

He thinks of salt.

His mouth tastes weird.

He tries to concentrate.

He looks at the board, where Risolía is still gesticulating.

“ _Porque Colón no descubrió nada! Nada de nada! Ni siquiera pisó el continente aquella vez, se quedó en las Islas del Caribe! Esto es la historia, chicos, piensenlo_ ” The bell cuts her short and she perks up, snapping out of her daze and into reality, smiling at her students. Lance is utterly lost at what was she talking about before, he lost it all. “ _Justo! Pueden irse. La próxima clase empezamos con pueblos originarios…_ ”  

People start shuffling and sitting up, some chatting, some rushing to the door. The teacher tells her general good-byes, gets her handbag and leaves.

Lance is still sitting down.

When he looks at his left, Keith is already looking at him. His brow is furrowed and he’s pursing his lips. The stare makes Lance feels minuscule, insufficient, impossibly tiny… and wholly studied.

He diverts his eyes and looks down at his notebook instead. Which is blank. Totally blank. Lance’s notebook - the one who Keith was going to take the notes from.

“Oh no” he mutters and looks at Keith alarmed and then back down at the notebook. God no. No no no no.

“It’s okay,” Keith says because of course he notices and _of course_ it’s not. It isn’t a nice notion, feeling conscious of your mistakes.

“No, it’s not!” he exclaims, trying to not betray all of his emotions on his voice but he fails, he can see he's failing on the softening of Keith's expression. He has to fix it. ''I should have helped you, I promised.''

''Lance.'' His voice is soft and _fuck can he please not say his name like that?_ ''It's okay.''

He opens his mouth to retort again but the other stops him with a move of his hand, ''It's not your responsibility. It's mine.''

''But, still, I should have...'' he mutters, voice deflating. He feels like that something inside of him, so restless, spiraling, calm down a little. The knot is still here, though, pressing his chest, squeezing his heart. ''I wanted...''

''Oh.'' Keith's eyes widen. He doesn't ask what happened to him. He knows something isn't okay and he moves on. That's... new... but nice. It reminds him of his older sister's way of comforting him, not too overbearing but still warm somehow. A silent support.  He tries to think about something else, the memory... he doesn't want it now, the mere thought of it makes the pressure on his chest grow heavier.

The class is over. It’s over. He got caught up in his own head and left Keith by himself. He didn’t take any notes, so he’s already behind in the subject.

Well done, Lance.

It’s over.

 

*

 

Mechanically, he connects his things and gets out of the already half-empty classroom. Still silent, Keith follows him.

The hallways are full with students, dressed in coloured, varied clothes that hypnotise his buzzing mind for all the traject from the door of the classroom down the stairs and out of the building. God, he fucked up so badly, so badly...

''I can make up for it,''  Lance says where the whirlwind of colours is out of his sight, already walking through the streets in direction to the Avenue. There are all big, residential houses here, all made from brick and wood.   A few of them are almost mansions and have intricate stairs and original, wide windows. They are nice.

Walking helps. He breathes in and out deeply.

Keith gives him a side-eyed, exasperated look.

''Oh, god. You won't let it go, will you?'' he asks then sighs  “Okay, what’s your idea?”

Lance just stares.

“Was it that easy?” he asks, surprised.

“Yeah...” Keith’s gaze trails off and he starts fidgeting. The fuck. Is he growing insecure?  “Is it bad?”

Lance quickly tries to reassure him.

“No, no, buddy, it’s fine!” he smiles then, excited to find a similar response in the other’s face  “Who wouldn’t accept free food?”

“Oh, so that’s your plan, then?”

“Yup! How about…” They already reached the avenue so Lance looks around, trying to find…  

“Ice cream?” he suggests, spotting a place a few meters away, then he turns back to Keith, whose face sports the same raw enthusiasm about the idea that  a little child. It’s nice, catching him in a few seconds of pure, open happiness. It makes something, queasy and restless before, in Lance’s gut settle — _I made him at least a little happy._

It makes him laugh, honestly, relieved, and openly as he tugged at Keith’s arm, leading him towards the ice cream parlor.

 

*

 

It’s a little place besides a supermarket. _Helado artesanal - tradición italiana_ , the sign in the front preaches.

Lance remembers that, while Argentina used to be a Spanish colony, it’s culture is drenched of nitpicks and details of immigrants from Italy, France and East Europe. That’s partly why Argentinian Spanish is quite flowy, light and colourful like italian, so different from the Caribbean pronunciation Lance has heard so often at home. What was it called? _Español rioplatense_. Italian immigrants assented themselves in Buenos Aires and its surrounding, by the river, by the ports where they came from, starving and running from the crisis, the sickness or the hunger.  And their language, their manners, their strong beliefs were assented with them and mixed with those from others, those that were already there, those new strangers that came also looking for a home.

Immigration has been historically tattooed with fire on Latin America’s open veins.

He doesn’t tell Keith this. Instead, he just nods at the board behind the counter that says the flavours so the other boy can choose while Lance pays for their ice creams. Two _cucuruchos_ , as the sign says. They are just cones made of cookie but there’s a certain thrill to choosing something so simple, so familiar with such a new, unfamiliar name.

“So are you a chocolate guy or a vanilla guy?” he asks Keith with a smirk after he paid, expecting a predictable, boring answer so he can tease him.

Once again, Keith surprises him by squinting at him and turning defiantly to the women behind the counter and asking, in really broken Spanish that put all humanity to shame.

“ _Por favor?_ _Dulce de leche_ ice cream _?”_  The woman doesn’t seem surprised by the butchering of her mother tongue. She just smiles and looks over at Lance.

“ _Son dos sabores, pa_ ” she says. He translates to Keith, who probably didn’t catch the phrase.

“You have to choose another flavour, buddy” The boy seems puzzled and stares down at the fridge where the ice cream is displayed in buckets, frowning.

“I want the blue one. What is it?” he murmurs and Lance asks the woman.

“ _Crema del cielo_ ”

“Sky...cream?”

“I guess it’s not really sky cream, but go with it if you want.”

“Uh” he looks between the bucket with the flavour and Lance with an open expression, mouth agape and eyes wide and surprised. It strikes Lance again how endearing that look is on him, like a lost child  “I’ll try it.”

In a few minutes, they both have their ice creams scooped in twin cookie-made cones and sit down to eat them in silence. It’s a quiet moment. Ordinary. Like two good friends, getting an ice cream after a class, in an unusually hot day for autumn.

He can’t help being quiet — he feels quiet. Feels the exhaustion creeping up on him, so natural after an out-of-nowhere freak out. Feels strange too, the warmth he feels just for sitting with Keith without shouting, without rambling, without needing to. Lance is not used to be quiet - he talks too much, he thinks too much, he does too much. He’s used to be shut down, used to the feeling of biting his tongue, of fearing being too much. This quiet? It’s so peaceful that it unsettles him a bit.

“I’m sorry for not taking notes” Lance breaks the quiet suddenly, but Keith doesn’t ever seems surprised. He just keeps licking his ice cream until it’s not at risk of melting on his hands.

“You... don’t have to be sorry” he says, pausing a little, still staring at the ice cream. Then his eyes flicker to Lance, “As I said, it’s my responsibility ”

Lance isn’t comfortable with the answer. He has to explain, he needs to justify...

“I just…” he interrupts himself. Keith’s gaze softens.

“Yeah?”

“I’m fucking up badly today. And I’m going to get you and I both behind in that class. You might get on but me, on the other hand… not so much”

Silence. Lance looks pointedly elsewhere, embarassed. He’s so tired today, what the fuck. Why did he say that!? Now Keith is going to mock him, right? He should, Lance is so pathetic, blurting stuff like that...

More silence.

Why isn’t Keith mocking him?

He hears a throat being cleared and he looks back at the other guy. He looks awkward but confident and he’s opening his mouth and closing it up again, like he can’t decide on what to say.

“Why…?” Keith starts, face blank, to interrupt himself and try again “Why do you think _I_ might” he makes air quotes “ ‘get on’ with the class?”

Lance looks at him surprised. Asking the obvious, much?

“Huh. Because you are _Keith Kogane_!?” he blurts with disbelief. Keith’s still staring at him blankly.

“That’s... my name?”

“What!? No! You seriously don’t understand what does it _means_?” Lance is seriously dumbfounded. Keith is looking at him like he grown an extra head.

An uncomfortable silence takes place, in which Keith’s growing scowl deepens. His ice cream’s dripping and he’s hunching more and more into his seat.

“Dude” Lance says “Do I really have to explain this?” He touches his face, laughing nervously. “You were with me in Iverson’s class on freshman year” he finally explains. Keith’s scowl is still there. Okay, yeah. He may have to go further.

“I… I don’t know, man. I can’t believe I have to explain this to you. I met you there… and you were _something else_ ” Lance feels his own face heating a bit from what he’s saying “ You were so quick at firing back to Iverson’s tricky questions. Most of the time, you left him speechless.” Lance laughs a little at the memory. Because he remembers, he remembers, he _remembers._

He’s suddenly there, as he recounts it. A nervous and overexcited freshman, happy to have entered into college, happy to finally stepping away from the hell that was high school. He was in a world where you could be yourself,  where you could openly just _be_ because no one _gave a shit_. Where all his efforts to study weren’t taken as an quirkiness, but as a given. Where his extroverted nature towards everyone wasn’t side eyed by students and even teachers were charmed by it.

Well, almost all teachers.

Iverson hasn’t been kind to Lance when he entered into the classroom. This teacher didn’t like questions, didn’t like comments, didn’t like anything he deemed as “distraction”. Students bouncing in their chairs, smiling or adding thoughts on the class were met with his stern and furious disapproval. Lance’s usual enthusiasm and inquisitive nature was taken down in a stride, silenced and punished.

Keith, on the other hand…

“You just shone, man,” It wasn’t supposed to come out sad and resigned. It was supposed to be venomous, poisonous. “And you didn’t give a shit about what Iverson said or about your grades. And they were great, I saw!”

Lance remembers, _remembers_ clearly because who couldn’t? Keith Kogane was like everything Lance wasn’t — everything Lance isn’t. Effortless accomplished. Liked without trying. Bright and quick, confident.

Everything Lance never could be.

“I’m not,” he hears Keith say, low and quiet, interrupting his thoughts. He looks mad, scowling hard. Lance wonders if he pissed him off so he just gazes at him surprised. Keith swallows and says again, more confident, loud.

“I’m not all those things you are saying.”

“Dude, don’t try to play it down to make me feel better. I honestly accepted it.” He laughs off. It’s the truth.

“ _There’s nothing to accept, Lance!_ ” Keith says fiercely. He’s looking at him in the eye now and Lance is suddenly very aware of his own movements, how his leg is bouncing with nervousness and he’s digging his free hand nails on his arm.

“ There’s nothing to accept. Nothing. I’m not like, effortless talented or something. Maybe…” he stops his tirade and his words get less intense “Maybe I get things more easily but it’s not because I’m better or something. I was just totally focused in it”

“And you think I was _not?_ ” Lance squeaks, wounded. His arm is starting to hurt.

“ No! No! I’m not saying that!” Keith almost shouts. He looks mad and he’s staring right at Lance. “I’m saying that was the only thing I had! The only thing I _have_!”

The words, loud and clear, hang in the air.

It’s disarming.

“What do you mean?” Lance mutters, weakly, stopping his fidgeting, now completely focused on Keith, who is looking elsewhere with an embarrassed expression. He didn’t want to say that much, that is clear.

“Lance, you have your family, you have a big group of friends and who knows what else...” The guy is stumbling over his words, scowl appearing again. “I… my life revolves around studying and working, mostly. I mean, I have Shiro but…”

He swallows and looks elsewhere, like he’s seeing something else, far away, long lost in between time and dust.

“It’s necessary. It’s what I have to do if I want to change something. The cause is bigger than I am.”

“Keith…” Lance calls. Like a charm, it wakes him up, suddenly and makes the doubt go away.

“I’d like to work with analphabet kids. I’d like to show young people who are deep in shit that’s not theirs that there’s a way out.” He states, sure of his words, determination shining in his eyes. It’s so sudden and so _Keith_ that it makes Lance smile. There’s still something he’s not saying but it’s enough, it’s enough. “That’s why I want to graduate as quick as possible. That, and because I have a scholarship.”

Lance used to think it was arrogance, it was effortless talent. Maybe there was something of the latter but also, _also._ The questions bubble in his throat wanting to be called but Keith looks so vulnerable - even if he’s staring at him still, waiting for a response, sure of himself, sure of his goals, sure of his actions.

“I’m sorry I came across as an asshole. I just… didn’t think of anything else than graduating at the time,” Keith apologizes, shoulders dropping a little in what looks like… embarrassment. Then he starts licking his ice cream again, that was starting to melt in his hand.

 _What changed?_ Lance wants to ask while Keith looks for napkins for his hand. _What made you come to Argentina? What made you talk to me? What made you stay here, with me?_

He has so many questions, so many feelings burning in his throat. Embarrassment of his presumptions, pride for Keith’s determination and curiosity.

Because he’s curious about Keith, he’s been since day one, since the only thing he could map was his back, always his back. And it should be over by now, shouldn’t it? But curiosity gets deeper the more he knows. And Lance is burning with the ache of wanting to know everything.

He’s _so much_ while Lance is _too much_ and the difference between those two statements is enough to make him retaliate.

Lance swallows everything down and doesn’t pry.

It’s enough.

“I think it’s really cool, man,” he says, the words sounding sick and faked out of his lips. Such a banal thing to say. He picks at his ice cream with the spoon, “I’m surprised you didn’t pick Education, though. I chose it more or less for the same reasons. Well, for that and because I wanted to help kids who were like me ”

“Like you?” and Keith honestly looks puzzled.

“Oh, yeah. I was a handful as a kid - still am,” Lance laughs at the last bit because how could Keith haven’t noticed?

“Uh,”  he just says, licking his ice cream. And he can’t be really that lost, can he?

“C’mon, even you with your head in the clouds must have noticed I’m a lot. I can’t stop talking? I can’t stop _moving_?”

“Well, _yeah._ You do talk and move a lot. But it’s not a handful”

Lance literally has to stop himself from dropping the ice cream at that.

“I literally talk _all the time._ Everyone in high school _hated it_. Even Hunk was sometimes overwhelmed by it. ” he says slowly, to get it in Keith’s head. Doesn’t he understand?

“You went to high school with Hunk?” Keith ask absentmindedly.

“ _Yes_ ” Lance remarks, loudly and _really exasperated a_ nd if they weren’t occupied, he’d throw his hands in the air. “That’s what you get out of this?”

Keith stops licking for a moment.

“What do you want me to say? _Yes_ , you _do_ talk a lot but it’s not a handful. It’s entertaining.”

Then, like he hasn’t dropped one of the biggest bombs in Lance’s life, he goes back to his ice cream.

“Your ice cream is going to melt” he simply says and that’s it. That’s it.

Lance stays silent and automatically eats for a while.

It’s not that big of a deal, it shouldn’t be.

They eat quietly for a while.

“I’m going to hate my decision so much later” Keith comments casually, making Lance perk up in curiosity. Didn’t he like his flavor? Crema del cielo looks freaky but it’s a charming shade of blue. Dulce de leche, well it’s a caramel treat. Can’t be that bad,considering Keith is eating it up with gusto.

“Why so?” he asks, slurping the sides of the ice cream that are melting. The other boy retorts without missing a beat.

“Because I’m lactose intolerant” Keith says, mouth full with dulce de leche, a flavour made out of _condensed milk._

Lance blinks.

“I’m…” he dignifies to answer, suddenly speechless _again,_ “Ridiculously unsurprised.”

And he is. Does it astound him that impulsive, reckless Keith, who went to another country without even knowing its main language is wolfing down a big-ass cone of ice cream, fully conscious he’s lactose intolerant and that it could kill him? Not a single-fucking-bit. Does it impress him? Maybe, but it’s not a big deal, Lance himself has—

Hold up.

It could kill him!?

“Wait. Should I drive you to hospital right now?” alarm starts to notice in his voice but he doesn’t care. He’s not going to forgive himself is Keith dies from a ice cream _Lance_ bought. Old rival or not. It’s not like he cares about Keith’s health, of course not, it’s not his business.

“Oh, yeah,” The serious, careless affirmation unsettles Lance. Doesn’t this boy mind his well-being not even a single bit? The follow up comment shakes him more. Keith says, without blinking, piercing him with his dark gaze  “ _I might die._ ”

Lance is opening his mouth, ready to scream at him and drag him to the nearest hospital, not unlike the way his own mother would and then he spots a little smile forming on Keith’s lips that stops him on his tracks. He closes his mouth and instead furrows his eyes at the other boy.

“Ha ha. You are so funny,” He blurts out, pride only slightly wounded  “Don’t call me when you are dying, then” He then proceeds to munch his ice cream but those precious moments he spent his attention on Keith’s health are paying him back in the form of dripping chocolate. He balances with it, trying to eat it before it melts off completely but the stuff was too high and half of the ice creams end ups on his nose, cheeks and forehead (somehow) instead of, y’know, his mouth.

If Keith was smiling before, now he’s cracking up, openly.

“C’mon, dumbass. Clean up.” Keith shoves him all the napkins he can find. Suddenly, Lance has the mental image of the other boy grabbing the napkins and cleaning his face, that same smile wrinkling his eyes, just like this, but closer, fonder…

The idea embarasses him even more and if Lance didn’t have his face flushed before, _now he certainly does._

What the fuck, brain.

“I told you it was going to melt,” Keith says, openly mocking him, and scratch everything — he’s definitely a little shit. He shoves a few napkins his way. Keith, too busy with eating the last of his ice cream, gets hit right on the face.

His betrayed face is priceless but before Lance can appreciate him looking like a wet cat, revenge gets its way and he’s blinded by a napkin thrown his way.

Let’s say it kinda started a napkin war.

Let’s say they were, erm, _kindly_ asked to retire from the establishment.

“ _Yanquis,”_ the woman in charge of the ice cream laughs quietly while the angry manager escorts the two amused and embarrassed young men out of the door.

When they arrive to the bus stop, they are still laughing.

*

Lazy evenings are a bliss. Dusk paints the sky in oranges and purples and, depending in where Lance looks, the colours change. Their building looks ethereal, charming under the orange light and for a moment, if Lance closes his eyes and ignores the sounds of the people passing in the street and the smell of the lime trees, the warm sunlight on his face brings him back home.

Keith looks serene besides him, staring at nothing, caught up in his own thoughts. Lance nudges him softly to call for his attention. Keith makes an inquisitive sound and looks at him for a moment before kneeling down to pet Cachita the cat who is now circling between their legs (no doubt asking for tuna, the cute bastard).

Everything feels warm. Comfortable.

It makes Lance brave.

“Keith,” he simply calls and is surprised by the calm tone in his own voice.

“Yes?” Keith mutters absentmindedly, scratching behind the cat’s ear. Cachita starts purring.

“What did you mean when you said my talk was entertaining?” He was curious, he wanted to hear more.

“Well, uh, it _is,_ ” he stops petting the cat, who just butts her head against his hand. He doesn’t seem to notice, now occupied with furrowing his brow “Sometimes I can’t keep up but, still, it is enjoyable. It never fades or grows uninteresting...like...like…”

Lance patiently waits for the comparison.

“Like stew,” finishes Keith, literature major.

“Uh,” wisely answers Lance, now truly speechless.

Cachita meows for attention. Keith rushes to pet her again and tries to explain, stumbling over his words, voice getting louder and exasperated.

“You know! A stew!” he almost shouts, then he tries again, softer but still as awkward, “A, uh, good, home cooked stew. Because you can keep eating it and the taste never fades”

“That’s actually a good metaphor,” Lance mumbles, surprised. Keith just nods, a little embarrassed, and then, gets up.

“I have to go and try make some dinner that isn’t pasta” he says and then winces “Last time I left Shiro to do it, I had to eat burnt ravioli with yogurt as sauce because he confused the cream package and the yogurt one”

That sounds really disgusting. Lance takes pity on him — on them. It must be hard being Shiro.

“Hey, you can always pop in at our place. Hunk cooks _like the gods_ and we always have a lot of extra food anyway.”

Keith stops in his pace to his door and doesn’t turn to address him but nods noncommittally.

If he thinks his avoidance of stepping in the upstairs apartment was missed, he’s very very wrong.

 _Caught you, Keith._ Lance smiles as he watches him go. _You’ll come over sooner or later._

 

*

(That night, after having one of Hunk’s delicious dishes, Lance goes through all his day spent with Keith. He said a lot — more than he should, more that he wanted. He doesn’t regret it, though.

For the first time in ages, Lance feels like he said enough.

Or, well, _almost_ enough.

He can’t help laughing a little while he grabs some pen and paper and he’s still smiling as he scribbles a quick message, as he attaches it to some knitting yarn he has lying around.

His smile never fades as he opens the window, as he takes in the night air, as he lowers the little message down. He waits a bit and…

There it is. The pull. The little intake of breath.

Keith’s head pops in from below, hair wild, disarranged, face lit only by the lamp and the moonlight, and Lance can see the moment he’s spotted.

Keith looks at him fondly, earnestly and, in silence, like it’s a secret to them only, mouths _you are welcome_ before popping out of sight again.

Lance’s smile stays, wide, so wide it aches, as he stares at the starry night, a quiet, simple truth throbbing through him.

This is the ending of so many things and the start of so many others.)

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Translations:**  
> 
> “ _Mi nombre es Lance, es un gusto conocerlos. Disculpen la interrupción…_ ” My name's Lance. Nice to meet you. I'm sorry for the interruption   “ _Sí, sí._ ”  Yes, yes    
> “Por favor, andá a sentarte y dejame continuar con la clase...  
> ” Please go sit down and let me continue the class  
>  _“Ahí, al lado del otro estudiante de intercambio,”_ There, besides the other exchange student  
> “ _Una vez un alumno mío de secundaria me dijo que la actividad económica principal de la Selva Amazónica era la ganadería. En la Selva Amazónica! Todo lo que podía imaginarme era una vaca colgándose entre las lianas en medio de la selva como una especie de Tarzán ungulado!”_ Once a student of high school told me that the main economic activity in the Amazonian Jungle was farming. The Amazonian Jungle! All I could of think of was a cow hanging around vines in the middle of the jungle, like some sort of ungulate Tarzan  
>  _Silencio o nada:_  Silence or nothing  
> “ _Porque Colón no descubrió nada! Nada de nada! Ni siquiera pisó el continente aquella vez, se quedó en las Islas del Caribe! Esto es la historia, chicos, piensenlo_ ” Because Columbus discovered nothing! Nothing! He didn't even stepped on the continent that first time, he stayed at the Caribbean Islands! That's history, guys, think about it''  
> “ _Justo! Pueden irse. La próxima clase empezamos con pueblos originarios…_ ”  ''Just in time. You can go. Next class, we are starting with native population.''  
>  _Helado artesanal - tradición italiana_ : Artisanal ice cream - italian tradition  
> “ _Son dos sabores, pa_ ” : It's two flavours, pa  
> Crema del Cielo: blue type of ice cream consisting on dyed american cream.  
> Dulce de leche: an argentinian caramel AND the nectar of the gods. It's better than nutella. I swear.  
>   
>  **Author's note**
> 
> So, it took two/three months of writing and erasing but it's here! It's here!!!! I'm so excited about what's to come, you guys, I have a lot in stash!  
> Thank you so much to the sweethearts that commented, y'all are what pumped me up to keep going with this chapter even though I was terribly stuck.  
> I hope you are liking this so far! See you next chapter!  
> Shout your thoughts in the comments or come scream with me at @hihereami on tumblr dot com <3


	5. fuga y misterio

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> '' _Chorro_ is the least threatening slang for thief ever.''
> 
> *  
> Or, the chapter in which Keith's basic knowledge of spanish is a neverending karma.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title is from ''Fuga y Misterio'', a beautiful tango composed by Astor Piazzolla! You can listen it [HERE](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7XdaFR6mIC4) or [ON THE PLAYLIST FOR THIS FIC](https://open.spotify.com/user/aimeejene/playlist/67C1F04nlS1PvjdtjrwKxK)
> 
> (If you know the meaning of the title and the content of this chap.. well, it kind of links. Every chapter title does ;) )
> 
>  
> 
> **THE BIGGEST SHOUTOUT TO BO!!!! THEY BETA'ED THIS MONSTER AND HELPED ME HAVE SOME CONSISTENCY THRU SPRINTS!!!! I LOVE YOU BO!!!! YOU ARE AN AMAZING PERSON AND A GREAT FRIEND!!!**

 

What does it really mean to belong?

Keith never knew.

He doesn’t say it out loud — _why would he?_

Orphans don’t say it, they just live it through, they fight against the clatter, the endless snapshots of a life they could have, they fight against the hunger, against the foster that hits them at the slightest mistake, they protect those too young to defend themselves. They go to school. Sometimes they drop out. Some get in college. Those are the lucky ones.

It’s not the drama of a soap opera neither it’s the redhead who sings about the mother  who loved her but went away. It’s not the young child who saves the world nor the reckless young girl who fights against odds just to preserve her only sister.

Orphans in life are not those orphans in fiction. They are people. A single teardrop in a downpour. The individual sentiment of thunder against a multitude. The strange emptiness that isn’t quite about having a family, it’s about being afraid of never being wanted, never being loved, never being enough.

But what are humans without a little emptiness?  

Even though Keith filled himself with stories as a child, with worn books he could smuggle from the school of the month’s library, with mantras that claimed love, that claimed completion, his only philosophy was pragmatic, practical.

Do. Work. _Get by._

He loved the strange sense of stability routine gave to him, a sensation that might have been like a pearl passing through an hourglass but , even if it was for that brief second in which everything pierced itself together, the perfect puzzle of a day by day. It’s okay to not belong somewhere fully, it’s okay to feel a little empty. It’s okay to not look for more. You are warm, you are safe in the web of habits you’ve trapped yourself in.

Keith loves routine, would love to have it, if it weren’t for the fact that he’s an impulsive person.

A really, really, _really_ impulsive person.

 

* * *

 

**“ Good morning, sunshine!!! Fortunately I won’t see your ugly mullet till way past noon. Wish me luck in class, yes? That’s a good one right? Since you have no way to answer except shouting it. Shout how lucky you want me to be today, wonderboy!**

**Enjoy la** **_Biblioteca Nacional!_ **

**PS:** **_por favor_ ** **means please and** **_ayuda_ ** **means help.**

- **lance”**

 

* * *

 

Keith Kogane has a damn awful  sense of direction.

The thing about this Achilles heel, it’s not constant. Sometimes he can swing by the streets without as much as glancing a map, instinct guiding him. He has his own stars, his own inner constellations to follow.

Sometimes he just can’t walk one street without getting in the heart of a maze.

Is this a skill? Is this a really shitty superpower? Is his destiny insisting on pissing him off with everyday reminders of the poor decisions he takes?

Whoever knits fate tight like a hanging rope, they sure are keeping a list!

Impulse travel to Argentina without knowing the language? Check.

Getting in dumb petty fights with his soon to be upstairs neighbour? Check.

Feed Shiro radish soup — the very one he hates? Check. (Okay. That one was hilarious. Destiny makers sure had a laugh out of the consequences. A red faced screaming Shiro is _always_ funny.)

Lost in the middle of an unknown neighbourhood because of yet another impulse decision? Check, thanks for asking.

To be honest, at this point he doesn’t even know _where he has to go_ and he feels a little self conscious to stop one of the hundreds that are passing just to ask them about directions in a language they might not even talk.

He just wanted to go back home from the national library, man. Even though no one who speaks decent enough spanish could go with him, there he went anyways. _La Biblioteca Nacional_ was a delight, all windows and spaces to read. Lance had called him a nerd for wanting to go, before parting ways, back in the PH.

Did he wait an hour just for a book? Yes. Was it worth it? Totally.

Trying to go back to his apartment, on the other hand… Well, it’s tricky when you don’t know the neighbourhood, you don’t know which bus or subway line to take and your superpower is a shitty sense of direction.

The zone he’s walking in right now looks, to be honest, fancy as fuck. And Keith feels a little out of place, afternoon sun hitting him right in the face and making him sweat. The heat isn’t enough to get rid of his leather jacket because apparently, that’s what autumn in Buenos Aires is like. Sun threatening to burn your skin and at the same time chilly wind.

And damn, isn’t he hungry right now. But he promised to himself to not spare his budget on candy and snacks, even if those are abundant in the streets, displayed neatly in _kioscos_ , that is, little grocery stores meant to be used as a quick stop in between walking through the street.   Which reminds him, he _really_ has to look for a job.

He just wants to go home, make himself a snack, and watch some tv series. He just wants to grab the little ounce to routine he kept since he came to Argentina.

His phone buzzes and he fishes it from his backpack. It’s an old motorola he got as a hand me down from Shiro a few years ago.

 

**Pidge (15:40 pm)**

reminder: cuidado con los chorros.

**You (15:40 pm)**

Lance already told me this.

Also,“chorros”.

I can’t believe that means sprinkle...

Least threatening slang for thief possible, huh?

**Pidge (15:41)**

i hope u get robbed.

hunk says that’s too harsh

so i politely hope u get robbed

 

Keith chuckles a bit, amused, before actually remembering that _he should be paying attention, that was the text’s purpose._ It’s in the brief second in which he raises his face from the phone and looks ahead at the street when he sees it. Almost nonchalantly, in between the crowd of people, a man with a suit is trying to stuck his hand in an old lady’s backpack, who remains blissfully oblivious to the situation.

A beat passes and before he’s realizing it — he’s shouting.

“CHORRO!” he hollers, running towards the man and the lady, begging his accent isn’t destroying the word to the point of incomprehension “CHORRO!”

It’s in that second when the lady perks up, looks behind her, her eyes shifting between Keith and the man and, without even doubting, decks the thief right in the jaw.

And, then, ladies and gentlemen, is when whoever threads destiny decided everything must absolutely go to shit.

The crowd walking around them is now also screaming. Chaotic, like a wild pack, a few get in between the old lady and the thief, who is cradling his own face in utter bewilderment and looks between terribly frightened and murderous.

The hit doesn’t seem to be that big of a deal physically, Keith doubts an elder has _that_ good of a right hook, but he looks like he fears more the few ladies coming to increpate him, yelling in his face, more than whatever hit his former victim could do.

A man is screaming, a few high schoolers with white guardapolvos are watching curiously the situation, the thief is insulting the old lady while being insulted by a few other people, a middle age woman is asking questions to Keith too quick for his understanding…

A dude makes a move to try to catch the pickpocketer, maybe too blunt, maybe too harsh. Someone screams for blood. Someone howls.

The thief bolts away.

A few try to follow him. Most of them give up. The crowd, as quickly as it was formed, clears out.

Keith remains frozen in place, in total and utter disbelief of what just happened. In that middle place where time is timeless, where shock is so strong that it mutes every other sensation, every other rational thought.

Someone touches his shoulder and, for a brief second, Keith entertains himself on the possibility that it’s Lance, that he actually came, that he would help him again, like that time in the bar two months ago.

When he turns around, instead of finding a tall and handsome guy, he sees the old woman who was almost robbed, looking at him sharply.

Okay, Keith Kogane has seen thousands of old ladies.This one isn’t crumpled as a raisin or hunched over. She doesn’t walk with a cane, she stands tall and confident, short blonde dyed hair, black eyeliner over wrinkled eyes, bright red lipstick and ever more colourful clothes. She’s dressed like an elegant hippie, to be honest, with a giant purse and sunglasses hanging on a string around her neck. Another pair of frames stand over her nose.

They stare at each other. Keith wonders if he’s as much of an alien to this woman as she is to him, with his little ponytail and red leather jacket. And his one word domain of argentinian slang.

“ _Gracias, jovencito_ ” she simply says. It takes him embarrassingly long to process the gratitude and when he answers, it’s strange, choked.

“ _De nada_ ”  He remembers the tourist handbook and basic politeness formulas “ _El placer es todo mío_ ”

The lady smiles knowingly, like that was enough, but doesn’t make a move to go away. Keith will eventually run out of prefabricated sentences if she keeps this conversation up.

He seriously hopes she’s not here to ask for indications.

“ _¿Necesitás ayuda?”_ she says. And yes, he caught the substantive “help” in the phrase (that much he knows, give him a little faith) and it seems to be a question so…

“ _Sí._ ” he lets out. Then he clears his throat and tries again, just to be sure “ _Ayuda_.”

And then the strangest of wonders happen and the old lady’s face lights up.

“¿Adonde vas?” she asks and, smart enough to catch that he doesn’t know that much spanish, starts signaling left and right and raises her shoulders questioningly. Where is he going. That’s it.

“Uh…” he shuffles in his backpack and takes out his phone to show her Google Maps. She scoots over and, with a perfect pronunciation she mutters the subway station’s name.

“ _Pueyrredón._ ”

Damn. Keith thought it was more like saying _why you gone_. It sounded similar in his head. It’s way more marked than that, though. He still has to get used to the double r’s.  

The lady taps his shoulder again and motions very exaggeratedly towards the left. Like, she swings her whole arm over there, like she was throwing a ball her size. He would have been _very_ dumb to not catch that one.

“Okay” he answers and she just nods graciously. “ _Gracias_ ”  he tries. That’s a word he knows well! The old woman smiles now, wide and openly, like he was a little child. To her, he probably is.

“ _De nada_ ” it’s her answer. But instead of just waiting for him to walk away after being helped, she takes the initiative and starts walking ahead of him. She turns around then and look at him impatiently, like she’s expecting him to follow her.

Uh, okay. It doesn’t stop here then.

 

* * *

 

The lady’s name is _Abuela Susana_ and when she speaks she uses her whole body, bobs her head, opens and closes her hands like she’s leading an invisible orchestra, letting Keith appreciate her painted nails. And she does talk, a lot. Keith doesn’t think she’s stopped rambling since they started walking side by side in the tunnels, nor when they got to the station (apparently Abuela Susana goes in the same direction, as she graciously let him know).

They are in the subway wagon already, side by side on the plastic seats and she’s telling him a story about his husband trying to throttle behind their grandchildren.

Because, yes, even when Abuela Susana knows bits and pieces of English and Keith has just the tourist guide level of Spanish, they can actually communicate, and very well for that matter! She uses all of her  theatricals to enact and specify what she’s telling and he uses the translator in his phone when he wants to say a very difficult phrase. He offered her the device thrice already, just in case, when she’s looking for a specific word and that just causes her to look in disgust between Keith and his Nokia , like it was some kind of blaspheme.

She only uses her phone for Whatsapp — he’s learning now— and doesn’t really gets (or sees the point) of electronics and Internet.

“ _Víctor está enamorado_ ” she also whispers at him and signals the phone, makes a heart shape with her hands and then sighs, looking exasperated. Víctor is her husband. Yeah, she hates technology for that, too.

The rest of the wagon are looking at them every time she makes an extremely dramatic gesture, amused. Because, regarding the grandma’s whispers… well. They are loud. When Abuela Susana notices, she bows and looks at each person straight in the eye until they get really embarrassed and finally look away.

“Us argentinians” she proclaims loudly “are really nosy”

“Uh” Keith looks back at the staring crowd, who almost immediately pretend to be concentrated on something else. There’s so many different people — he never expected South America to be this diverse. A few woman are talking in another language (guaraní, Abuela Susana told him it was. Guaraní. A native population tongue) while laughing and holding their babbling children. A man on the other side of the wagon has his suit all disarranged and is yawning, while a teenage kid with asian features reads a book standing. A woman with a hijab and a stroller is checking her phone and a group of college aged kids are talking over, what he presumes, is a textbook. Keith is finding Argentina to be this melting pot of customs, people and warmth in general. He likes it. In some strange, crazy way, it feels familiar. A fleeting thought passes through his head. _This must be how homey feels like._

The train comes to a stop.

Outside of the window, his station’s name is clearly written in white letters over a green background. He has to get down on the train. For all the eagerness he had to get home an hour ago, now he just doesn’t _feel like it_. It’s not the first time since he stepped in argentinian soil than he rejects that routine he used to cherish. What happened? What changed?

“Keith?” Abuela Susana calls. When he looks back at her, her face is neutral but her eyes are glinting with something akin to mischief. “Do you want to _merendar_?”

“Merendar?” Keith asks. He knows the slang from somewhere, he heard Pidge yelling it upstairs, but he can’t quite place it. Abuela Susana smiles and mimics holding a teacup, pinkies up and everything.

“ _Hora del té. Mi casa. Querés venir?”_ And this time he gets it right away.

“ _Me encantaría_ ” he answers and can’t help to smile back. Somehow, routine totally forgotten.

**

Abuela Susana lives in a very nice neighbourhood. He can’t help staring at everything with wide eyes, feeling a little self conscious of his ripped jeans and his denim look. Anyhow, Abuela Susana is using mismatched earrings so he probably shouldn’t give a fuck. She’s explaining some stuff when he points at it but mostly she’s humming under her breath. Meanwhile, Keith just tries to walk and see as much as he can without stepping on dog poop. The amount of crap that is in the streets is unreal. Abuela simply answered “ _hay muchos maleducados_ ” in distaste when he warned her about the danger ahead.

They get to an apartment building, quite unlike his PH. For starters, this one has twelve floors, a parking lot and neighbours who probably don’t go around passing notes down your window.

Even though this could very well be an old lady leading him to a bloody death, the woman doesn’t stir any suspicions in him. His instincts, usually triggered by the most subtle of suspicious attitude, stay silent. Also, Keith kind of doesn’t doubt he could take this old red-dyed woman who is currently fumbling with her keys.

When she opens the door to her apartment, on the eighth floor, Keith feels like he’s stepped on someone else’s memories book, a faint melody flowing over the grey tiled floors. Walls are painted orange and pink and there are paintings across the hall. Abuela Susana leads him to the living room , stopping at a charcoal portrait to look at it proudly and proclaim that was her dad.

The living room is neatly organized but there’s nothing minimalistic about it. It’s filled to the top with psychology, philosophy and architecture books, different ornaments like a rosary, a very fancy knife (that keith discovers is for cutting paper, sadly), a ceramic dog that looks like a breed between a chihuahua and a husky, a few little cards with saints on it, plates ,tons of decorative plates, masks, little ceramic houses the size of his hand with little bears living inside (he didn’t even bother to ask), candles, and pictures, lots of pictures over the wall and all over the tables. The patterns of the couches and of the tablecloths are as mismatched as Abuela Susana’s earrings. On a far corner, next to the balcony, there’s a table with a stereo and a TV on it and an opened wicker box under. Overall, it’s a really charming place.

Abuela Susana leads him to the wooden table in the center and motions for him to sit. Then she turns around and , voice louder than probably needed, since it’s a small apartment, she calls her husband. Keith sits by the balcony window and peers outside.

“ _Victoooor!”_ An intelligible response somehow she makes out sounds from the bedrooms and she looks back at Keith, who is currently observing some family pictures from his chair at the head of the table. There’s a few old ones, of a young woman smiling from a frilled tight dress.

“No!” she proclaims loudly, startling him. For the first time since he met her, she looks dead serious.  “ _Esa silla no!”_

She motions to another seat. Keith’s in blank. Did he miss a social cue of some kind? What is the problem with the chair? It doesn’t feel broken or anything.

Abuela Susana looks too serious to take any answers, so he decides to pass through his own confusion and just do what he’s told. When he finally seats on another place, the old lady’s tight grimace lightens and she smiles at him sweetly.

“ _Gracias_ ” she says. “ _Té, café o mate?_ ” And the subject is never touched again.

***

When she finally sets the table down, tea time turns out to be a damn feast.

He’s used to the good old american mid afternoon snack but _this_ . She brought out toast, mermalades, butter and _dulce de leche_. He never ate dulce de leche before. It’s a caramel that looks like nutella but tastes much, much sweeter. He’s munching down a very big portion of toast with dulce de leche spread over it when Victor, Abuela’s white haired husband, taps him on the shoulder.

“What do you know about tango?”

 _Tango._ Yes, a local dance, the one always pictured in movies as this sexy, provocative thing. The only fact he knows about it was Pidge’s “tango is better than salsa, you are just mean” and he’s pretty sure that was a jab at Lance (and a meme. Hunk showed him)

“Nothing much” he decided on the honest answer. And, apparently, the right one, given the way Victor’s eye lit up. He stands up from his seat in front of Keith (the famous forbidden chair has stayed empty for some reason), looks over to Abuela Susana - whose lipstick is smeared and is currently munching her own piece of toast - and graciously offers her his hand.They just laugh, secretive, quietly, confident and Abuela Susana nods.

_What’s... going on?_

They get up, slow steps, and suddenly, before Keith’s gaze, it’s like everything’s shifted, time dancing back to another time, those two before his eyes much much younger, the same look in their eyes, the same confident smiles, the same unmovable feeling of complicity. It’s simple. It’s foreign.

They circle the living room, two figures standing tall, dimly illuminated by the golden sunset light coming through the balcony window. One in front of the other, fingers interlaced, one of his hands around her waist, one of hers clasped on his shoulder.  

There’s no music. There’s no need. Keith almost feels like an intruder, like he doesn’t belong in this ethereal island of feelings, of warmth. He doesn’t recognize himself in the way those two hold each other - hands wrinkled and worn. Eyes pierced on each other, calm, assured. _Safe_.

Should he look away? Should he step back, back into his world, back into his own bubble and his own routine? He's foreign in so many senses of the word, he's got a missing piece in this already complete puzzle. And why did they let him in? Why does he always let himself be swept away by the warmth, the strange feeling that sings in his ear?

(this is a home, but it's not yours. not yours. not yours.)

But he can't look away. He can't, enraptured by the magic of the moment.

Abuela Susana and Victor start dancing.

Steps sharp, precise. Perfect sync, perfect stance. A symphony composed only by their laughter, the sound of their shoes against the floor.

The sound of something that Keith shouldn't be enraptured by, but impulse... impulse is always stronger.

He watches and he can see it, he can hear it, he can remember it as it was his memory, this same couple, a team through rain and pour, through flood and blood.

In one second, he _knows_ them.

And then it's over, they stop dancing, they break it - similar grins in their faces, wrinkled eyes even more worn and marked that ever (What's to say people look younger when they are happy?).

They look at Keith.

Abuela Susana is smiling warmly. She looks like an actress after a play, shining and proud. The smile of someone who expects to be watched and wants everyone in the world to share their happiness.

And maybe, maybe he wasn't that out of place. He was invited to belong, even for a brief moment.

'' _Hermoso_ '' he simply says. His spanish is still broken, tore apart but the older two seem to appreciate it nonetheless. He wishes his vocabulary was more rich to compliment them more, maybe for three hours. And god, is this him? Wanting to talk? Wanting to compliment an almost stranger? Shiro would lose his shit. Lance would probably congratulate him for ''the upgrade''. Hunk and Pidge...

He wishes he could know that, to be honest.

He wishes - quietly, sometimes - he could just have the courage and do something as simple as knocking the door of their department upstairs, could get himself without problems into their world, could learn how to move amongst them, without fear, comfortably.

Keith wishes he knew how to make himself belong.

'' _Probaste el dulce de membrillo?_ '' Abuela's voice breaks through, interrupting his thoughts.

''Huh?'' He asks. Victor went to play with the speakers. Abuela Susana is looking at him, head tilted, her glasses reflecting the last remains of sunlight.

'' _Dulce de membrillo_ '' she repeats, signaling a small plastic package with dark red rectangular jelly. It looks gross.  And it should have shown in his face, because the older woman just sighs , cuts him a piece and sets it in Keith's plate, looking promptly at him.

''Huh...'' _Cmon, Keith, last time you thought something was gross, you were wrong_ ''Okay?''

He pokes the jelly. It's... sticky.

Oh, that's what Abuela Susana set a fork.

''Okay'' he repeats, pretty sure Victor is gazing amused at him behind his back. _Here goes nothing, I guess._

He cuts the edge of the jelly - dulce de membrillo, dulce de membrillo- and proceeds to munch it.

Huh.

It's... not bad. It's bittersweet and not quite like jelly. Sticky? Yes. But also solid and actually _pretty freaking good._

Abuela Susana smiles at him smugly - now seated down - and she drinks her tea.

Keith doesn't have to know much spanish to understand perfectly that she's saying ''I told you so''.

***

Time passes, squeezed between the rhythm of milongas like the tango steps that Abuela Susana and Víctor show him.Pictures of their kids spread over the table and the quiet, warm feeling of lightness that fills Keith from head to toe. Conversation gets to a point where he has mentioned Shiro and his neighbours _so much_ that Abuela starts asking for pictures.

“Yes. Right away” he complies and fetches his bag, abandoned on a couch on the other side of the room. While he shuffles for his phone, his company starts picking up the table behind him. He notices and means to argue that _he’ll do it_ but his phone screen is lit up and showing a rather scary scene.

**_Missed call from Lance neighbour (16:10)_ **

**_Missed call from Lance neighbour (16:30)_ **

**_Missed call from Lance neighbour (16:42)_ **

**_Missed call from Lance neighbour (16:54)_ **

**_Missed call from Shiro (16:59)_ **

**_Missed call from Lance neighbour(17:03)_ **

**_Missed call from Shiro (17:20)_ **

**_Missed call from Shiro (17:30)_ **

And on and on and on from both of them up to 18:10, five minutes ago. Shit. He really forgot to tell them, didn’t he? He kind of disappeared on them…

His phone starts ringing. It’s Lance again. Keith takes it immediately and balances it between his shoulder and his face, all the while trying to motion to his old friends that _he’ll pick up the plates,he will help, there’s no need for them to clean up after him._

“ _— oh thank god he picked up_ ” The guy says in the other side of the line to someone in the background. And then  “KEITH! _KEITH!_ ”

He has to separate his face from the device because Lance’s high pitched scream calling his name is _deafening._ He clears his throat, quite embarrassed.

“Yes” he simply says. “It’s, uh. It’s me”

The line goes silent and he can hear Lance’s long intake of breath.

“Keith.” he calls again, voice serious, low “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

Oh, Keith did really worry them, didn’t he? It’s strange, he just never dwelled on it, on how disappearing on them would be seem as. It _is_ a foreign city after all, where every turn was dangerous, every tangent in the routine could be a potential risk. The unknown is scary — Keith gets it, he really gets it, even though he avoids that fear when he throws headfirst into it. If he doesn’t think, fright fades away, like nothing.

“Keith?” Lance’s voice calls again, still calm but more alarmed.

He really did worry them. It’s strange, he feels guilty but at the same time, moved by it.  Why would they worry so much?

“I’m alright” he answers quickly.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes” this time his response is sure, leaving no doubts. He hears how Lance breathes out in relief on the other side “It’s… it’s a long story? But i'm alright!”

Silence from the other side again. He does hear a lot of shuffling in the background and a door closing and then…

“ARE YOU SERIOUSLY TELLING ME THIS BULLSHIT-- ?” Lance screams angrily at him. Víctor looks his way, brows furrowing. Keith throws an apologetic smile at him.

“Lance, you are being too _loud_ ” he mutters as pointedly as he can.

“OH EXCUSE ME THEN, SIR.” the other retorts, but lowers his voice anyway. A little bit. Still angry, though “Do you just want me to keep _calm_ while you vanish out of nowhere and freak out not only me, but also Shiro?”

Keith bites his lip guiltily. Shiro was supposed to be in a shift right now.

“Did I upset him that much?” he asks, trying not to convey how shitty he was feeling through the phone. Of course Lance had to pick up on it anyway, judging for the deep breath he takes before answering calmly. In the entire three months he’s known him, the guy’s been like a sensitivity sponge.

“Don’t worry, he didn’t clock out early. I told him I’d take care of the situation and Pidge is telling him you’ve been found right now.” Keith breathes a little easily. As wonderful the exchange program has been to them, Shiro has as much difficulties to find a decent job in this country as any disabled man in America. And he was _really_ excited about this one. The dude might be a lamp-breaking little shit but Keith still cares enough about him to admit he’s a responsible person and deserves a worthy job more than anyone else he knows.

“And since you nicely asked”  Lance chimes again, voice high in a faked cheery tone “you don’t have to worry about me either. A heart attack at twenty two is nothing.”

Keith laughs quietly. Behind him, Abuela Susana and Victor are smiling sheepishly over a few old pictures they discovered. The old woman looks up at him and mutedly offers him another cup of tea. Smiling timidly, Keith nods.

“ There was nothing to worry about. I’m… I’m safe” he turns around. He is in odd company, yes, but it’s nice to be somewhere so lit with… kindness. Offhandedly, he wonders if that’s how Hunk, Pidge and Lance’s apartment is like. Comfortable, warm and infinitely strange. “It’s kind of a ridiculous situation but it’s good”

“Damn, dude, just _tell me_ ” Lance’s amused voice, way more calmed down than minutes earlier, prompts him from the phone. And, well, Keith does.

“You should know, I have the most awful sense of direction...”

***

While the old house’s fuming kettle was taken out of the fire, Keith had finished wrapping up his story. What seems like a shocked silence comes from Lance’s end. He waits two beats before calling his name.

“Lance?” Victor motions to the seat and the, now filled, cup of tea. Keith mutters a quick _gracias_ and oddly apologizes again for being on the phone. Abuela Susana just batters her hand dismissively — though Keith can tell, she’s _very much_ overhearing the conversation. Her husband seems unsurprised at her antics and continues sipping his tea, while doodling over napkins. “Lance, are you there?”

“So.” He is answered even though, well, he’s ignored too. The voice from the phone is unusually neutral. “ You are telling me you just, vanished on the spot because an argentinian granny randomly adopted you?”

“Uh” Keith recoils, blinking in shock. That’s a good summary “Uh, yeah. It’s more nuanced but that’s basically it. Yeah”

“I’m not even a little bit _surprised_ ” Lance states, clicking his tongue against his teeth thoughtfully. “And you said she’s feeding you?”

“Hm-yha” Keith confirms, mouth full of toast. Lance makes a sound of acknowledgement.

“I’ll be right there. Text me the address” he says then, voice suddenly serious.

“Wha--you didn’t even ask any important questions! Aren’t you the least phased by this ridiculous situation?” Disbelief is the only response he can articulate.

“Look, Mullet. If this grandma of yours shares any similarities with mine, trust me. You are not going to get out of there without reinforcements.” He states sharply and then, like the drama queen he is, Lance hangs up on him.

Well, that was sure a scene. He looks back at the table: Abuela Susana quickly pretends to be brushing some crumbs off the tablecloth and acts like she didn’t absolutely snoop on the whole conversation. Victor just raises an amused eyebrow, stops his doodling and launches himself in a story on how he almost met Albert Einstein.

***

Well.

This is weird.

Lance bounces back and forth on his toes, standing awkwardly in the doorway while the old granny stares at him, door in half, scanning him up and down.

To be serious? Keith doesn’t blame her because for _some damn reason_ , the other guy decided to pass by an old people’s house with a look he could have borrowed from the “douchey” section in a Pinterest board.  An _abs shirt_ ? Shades? _Really, Lance?_

A word still hasn’t been said.

Lance smiles down shyly at Abuela Susana.

She narrows her eyes and opens her mouth. They both tremble at the upcoming verdict.

“Lance, _verdad?_ ” She looks briefly between Keith and Lance before stating in a broken english “You are too skinny”

They both breathe out in relief.

“Victor!” she calls for her husband, who is back to doodling houses in the napkins “ _Vamos a necesitar más sanguchitos!_ ”

She signals then to Lance to let him in, who smiles and

Victor doesn’t even seem to hear her, too focused in his own thing. Last time Keith peeked at his sketch, it was a fullY decorated building. On napkins. That was impressive.

“Wow, Keith, you were adopted by a fancy grandma” Lance comments softly but pointedly, while checking out the old portraits in the hall “To be honest, though, mine has a pretty similar decoration. Do you think it’s a latino thing or an old people thing?”

“I…” Keith doesn’t know what to answer. Doesn’t know what to _think_. The fact that Lance is here it’s already so strange. So foreign.  Like two pieces of different worlds, glued together in an extraterrestrial collage. Also, yeah, it doesn’t help that the dude doesn’t look the smallest bit surprised by the whole situation. Actually, he seems pretty… amused?

“I wasn’t _adopted_ ” he manages to let out a strangled protest. And the word, having to say it in a different context that he’s used to, having to even _say_ _it_ after years of it being buried down in his throat, beneath broken ceiling and burnt concrete…

“You _totally_ were” Lance retorts but the word he used before is throbbing in Keith’s mind. _Adopted_. What does it mean? What does it mean to be wanted?

_What does it mean to belong?_

Keith doesn’t know.

Keith doesn’t care. Keith doesn’t care. Keith doesn’t care.

“Whatever you say, Lance” Or, at least. _He shouldn’t._

Lance peeks at him, face contorted in an inquisitive expression. And maybe he would have said something, maybe he would have asked why Keith gave up so quickly, maybe would have searched deeper into the rubble if it wasn’t for Abuela Susana’s voice breaking the moment. n

“ _Pero que están hablando por ahí?_ ” she says and Keith is a little proud of himself for how quickly he got that. She wants to know what are they talking about. They do probably sound a little rude babbling in fast fired english.

“ _Nada, señora, disculpe_ ” Lance apologizes, smiling charmingly “Q _ué hermosos cuadros_ ” And that’s how, in less than ten words, the cuban man wins the old lady over. She lits up brightly, happy that someone appreciated her father’s portraits and launches in a funny explanation of how it was made, body language accompasing her words. Lance nods and adds comments here and there and the woman seems just happier and happier. It’s clear the guy absolutely _won her over_.

Keith is not surprised.

“Keith” she calls, startling him. He thought she was focused on Lance“Want… _este_ ... _otra_ cup of tea?”

Wow, that’s actually pretty good english. It’s nice to know he wasn’t the only one to learn in such a short time. When he looks at the lady, she smiles sweetly, all wrinkles and dimples and he can see in her mischievous eyes, she knows just exactly what he’s thinking. _What a fucking sly old granny._ Yeah. He’s kinda proud.

So, even though he’s already had five cups of tea and his bladder is probably cursing at him, he nods and smiles back.

“Lance?” All armament is now redirected at Keith’s friend. Hah. _Keith’s friend_. It’s a nice thought “Tea?”

Lance looks briefly at Keith — who’s taken aback by how he almost seems to...ask for his permission. His gaze then settles on Abuela Susana and nods.

“Okay!” She smiles and then turns to Víctor, who is still doodling on his napkins. From here, a small flamingo is decipherable. When did he change buildings for animals? And why flamingos? Hippos are way cuter.

“Victor, los sanguchitos, por favor?” She asks. Her husband finally stops drawing and winks at her while grabbing his keys and heading for the door.

“Español?” she asks, while putting new water in the kettle. There’s a little opening between their miniscule kitchen and the living room. Lance and Keith kind of stand awkwardly in the middle of the room. Keith because he doesn’t want to sit in the wrong chair again and Lance… Lance is looking at family portraits and at all the decorations with a strange look on his face. Her question makes his eyes fleet briefly at Keith and then at Abuela Susana again.

“ _Cuba_ ” He answers and there it’s again, that look. The old lady makes a little sound of acknowledgement. “ _Pero estudio en Estados Unidos. Mis padres se mudaron ahí cuando era pequeño_ ”

Keith tries to picture it, a tiny Lance waddling around in a white beach, clear skies above him, the bluest of oceans behind him. There’s so much warmth, it’s somewhere he belongs, somewhere he probably aches to go back to.

“Do you miss it?” Keith blurts out. Lance’s eyes widen, settling on him. It’s a fleeting second in which he panics he panics and …

“Yes.” He speaks softly, as if english was new to him, as if he was a child learning it from scratch, enthusiastic and bewildered. “Yes, I do”

Lance smiles.

It’s the same expression he gave to the house, to the decorations. It’s the same expression that he gets when bickering in spanish against Pidge, the same expression Keith’s imagination conjures when he hears his voice slipping from the window above, talking on the phone.

It’s the same and it’s different — because it’s directed at Keith.

“And how did you learn spanish so fast, dude?” he says and he looks so fond, so amazed… It makes something bloom insides Keith’s chest, something amist to proud. _Friends_ — something whispers inside him — _they are friends._

“I don’t think I _learnt_ ” he answers, trying not to break the strange fragility in the air with his voice “But I do understand a lot more” His eyes flash to the old lady humming while fiddling with stuff in the kitchen “Abuela Susana helped a lot with it”

He doesn’t see Lance’s bewildered expression, too focused in the way the shadows of the night coming from the window dance a tango with the soft yellow glow of the lamps.

“Abuela…?” The cuban man mutters to himself. Then he laughs, brightly, loudly, like he figured out something. Keith’s eyes inspect him suspiciously.

“Yes. Abuela Susana. She told me when we met. That’s her”  Keith says and points to the old lady in the kitchen defiantly. He can’t help feeling a little overprotective of the woman. Isn’t it rude from Lance to laugh at her name? “And her husband’s Victor. The tall man with white hair and glasses”

Lance is grinning widely, like he’s got a secret under his wings, a special trick in his back. It makes Keith a little bit uneasy but he lets it go when the other steps forwards and grabs his arm to tug him softly towards the table.

“Okay” The man just says while they sit down “I’m glad you presented me to them. It would have been a pity if I didn’t know their names, wouldn’t it?”

It would have. Abuela Susana and his husband are… really nice. And, even though Lance looks so out of place here, he also fits. Like mismatched patchwork.

“Lance” the woman calls from the kitchen “ _Querés galletitas?_ ”

“ _No, está bien, solo vine a buscar a Keith, en realidad._ ” He declines the offer of cookies to tell her he was here to pick up Keith and then smiles politely “ _Él se pierde fácilmente_ ”

“Hey!” Keith protests “I don’t get lost easily! I just have a really bad sense of direction sometimes”

“Are you sure it’s only sometimes?” Lance teases him while sitting on the chair at the head of the table “Shiro did tell me about your trip to Delmarva”

“Okay! Okay!” Keith retaliates “First. Don’t sit there. Second, don’t believe anything Shiro says, he’s a little shit”

Lance looks at him oddly but moves to seat besides Keith without comment. They are face to face now, knees almost touching. It’s a little bit too close for his taste. Lance doesn’t seem to mind because almost immediately he’s talking again

“You can’t deny that trip to Delmarva, Keith. He showed me pictures of you carpooling to get back.” he teases with a devilish grin. “And Shiro might be whatever you say, but he was _really_ worried”

Guilt creeps back up. But before he can say anything, before he can doubt or apologize, Abuela susana decides to burst in with the two cups of tea and cookies and sets them on the table.

“ _Yo también me mudé de chiquita_ ” she tells Lance, bringing the subject of Lance’s move as child back. She embarks then on her own story, as a young girl in Comodoro Rivadavia — a desert city in the south of Argentina. She tells them of her memories, tinted in white and grey, sepia like the few photos she could keep. She tells them about moving young, forced, estranged from her only known home, from her little corner in the world. She knits in hope and nostalgia the feeling of being thrown into a big city — the first time she heard all those cars honk in unison, the first time she took the metro, the aching desire to return where she belonged.

_—- and what does it mean to belong?_

Lance’s expression changes through all the story. Maybe from wary to fond, maybe understanding, maybe melancholic. But Keith… Keith can’t disclose what’s going on. He doesn’t look sad — or anxious, for that matter. He _saw_ him feeling unwell, that afternoon when they met on Risolia’s class for the first time, a few weeks ago. And well, this isn’t it. This is more deep, more strange, closed off. A mystery to unveil, someone that keeps things not because they _want_ to have secretes but because layers and layers of tantalizing unknown naturally dress them like a second skin.

Keith can’t help to wonder if he’ll ever see the rest of it.

Abuela brings up a few photos. Her dad — a handsome man, quite like the portrait in the hall. Her godparents, who had countless animals on their house. Her mom, a tight lipped woman with the same eyes as Abuela’s, staring at the camera sternly.

And then… a photo of a young girl, identical to the one in the picture over one of the tables. Abuela Susana’s fingers graze over the sepia paper for a few seconds. Her breath is hitched. For a moment, everything seems to stop.

Her face in inscrutable.

Keith’s pulse pauses in fear. Someone so transparent, so clear and bright, out of nowhere has turned into this impassible, stone cold person. She looks like an ice statue. He can’t see her eyes.

“Abuela Susana…” he mutters low “Is that you?”

She’s broken out of her daze, everything in her icy exterior shattering into a million pieces. When she looks up, Keith can’t help but notice how much _older_ and more _tired_ she looks.

“That’s just my sister” The woman answers. Her eyes fleet briefly to the empty chair at the head of the table and when she returns to her photographs, something in the air has changed, the pace picks up, an old melancholic melody once again bursting loudly.

And then, as if nothing’s happening, as if a ghost hasn’t breathed down their necks, like nothing, like everything, she’s chatting amiably about old memories and the old beach she used to go to with her family: Rada Tilly.

“She went back a few years ago with our granddaughter and now all the people from Comodoro moved to the beach” Victor chimes in, coming from the front door with a small bundle from the corner’s bakery.

Keith looks at Lance, hoping he has a clue on what just happened. He simply shrugs at him, equally confused. So, yeah, he decides to let it go.

“What are those?”he asks, pointing at the white bundle Victor is setting on the table. Susana beams at them and disarms it to reveal a pile of flat white and brown sandwiches.

“ _Sanguchitos de miga_ ” she says. Lance frowns a bit.

“They kinda look like paninis” he tells Keith, then picks one up and eats it.

“Mh. They are good!”he says between bites. His mouth is full and he kind of looks like a blowfish. It’s a little ridiculous “Try!’’

Keith pauses, looks between Lance and Abuela Susana - who are both munchin while looking at him expectantly - and decides to pick up one.

It tastes like mayonnaise. It tastes like cheese and ham.

It’s really, _really_ good.

“Oh jesus. It’s gotten late” Lance says suddenly, looking outside. It’s dark. When Keith had looked elsewhere, time has silently passed.

“You are staying for dinner” Victor says. Lance looks embarassed.

“Oh, no, I didn’t want to bother! I’m just here to pick this one up!”

“Well. You do that, but you are staying for dinner”

“ _Sobró tarta de ayer”_ Abuela susana chimes, looking smugly proud. Sly old lady knows they are not able to refuse. She knows it.

“Guess we are staying for dinner, then?”Keith tells Lance, smiling amused. Then he remembers to maintain some level of basic politeness and looks over where Abuela Susana and Víctor are, watching them expectantly. “Gracias”

Thank you, tourist guides for beginners.

* * *

 

“I’m still not forgiving you for the heart attack,man” Lance says on the ride back home, face serious. Keith looks at him in surprise, guilt and shame coming back in full force. Night has fallen - they really overstayed but it was worth it, the food in his belly was delicious and the old people’s stories were amusing.

“I really didn’t want to alarm you” he mutters. “I didn’t think it’d be such a big deal”

Lance’s brow furrows.

“ _You didn’t think— ?_ “ he repeats, disbelief turning his voice a few notes higher “Man, I seriously can’t tell if you mean this or not” His mouth is clenched now, like he’s trying really hard to not be pissed.

Keith’s blood starts to boil. How is he supposed to understand him if he keeps talking in riddles? He’s not a lost child, he knows his way around the streets, he can take care of himself perfectly fine. How incapable does Lance think Keith is?

“What else would I mean, Lance?” Keith retorts, trying very hard to not spit out the last word. However, his anger doesn’t go unnoticed. Lance recoils, and it’s as he was suddenly turned into a cautious animal, eyes narrowing, shoulders tense, pose alarmed.

“What else would you…?” Lance cuts himself from speaking.He’s double taking, repeating his words with such a harshness that takes Keith aback.

Now he understands.

He bothered Lance — he shouldn’t have let him come. He probably was coerced by Shiro to do it. He shouldn’t have even stayed more than the accounted in Abuela Susana’s house after Lance has arrived.  Keith shouldn’t have assumed they were that close, shouldn’t have let himself be swept up in Lance’s good natured spirit, jumped straight into the water with no care, he should have—-

It’s a millisecond of deafening silence before Keith speaks again.

“I’m sorry you had to come get me” he mutters, face blank, trying really hard to not sound disappointed, trying to not let himself show, trying to—-

“Wait, what?” Lance asks, voice high, eyes wide.

“You are pissed because you had to come get me and that wouldn’t have happened if I haven’t being careless.” Keith breathes in and tries to look elsewhere, to the window, out — where the blurred city passes fast, too fast, black darkness and red lights, kaleidoscope of the regret and the shame inside Keith’s veins “I’m sorry, Lance”

It’s the worn feeling of being alone in between the mist. The ages long fear of not belonging anywhere, like a book tore off its cover, like a smile in a dead man’s face.

Keith refuses to look at Lance.

_He shouldn’t have assumed they were friends_

He feels a weight settling on his shoulder.

“Keith” his name pronounced

_—Lance_

“Keith” he calls again and the impulse — as always, it’s always the impulsive pull against the status quo of his mind— wins over. He’s not quite serious but he’s also not smiling. But it matters. Whatever is in Lance’s mind right now, whatever words are going to come out of his lips, it holds a weight.

“I’m not pissed because I had to go to look for you, Keith” he says slowly, lightly. If it wasn’t for his hand on Keith’s shoulder, would he be able to keep steady? Would he be blown away, away with the tide of his words, the force of its meaning?

Lance bites his own lip, eyes searching nervously before finally staring right at him, with a whole new depht of sureness. It matters, it matters it _matters_

“I’m pissed because I- _Hell_ , because _we_ care about you!” He exclaims, face breaking in a bewildered grin, like he can’t believe his own words. It matters, it matters “We care, Keith! And you got us so worried for a second!”

_He matters._

“So, yeah” He’s looking elsewhere now, smiling small, shaking his head. He breathes in and out and any trace of anger Keith might have seen in Lance’s eyes is gone, gone away, vanished with the evening mist.

They say nothing more, nothing really that important. But that? That doesn’t matter.

* * *

 

It’s 10 pm when they arrive to the PH, and Keith sincerely doesn’t expect anyone to be awake. Much less, to be outside of their apartments.

His assumptions are proven wrong when, the moment he sets a foot in the main patio, he feels someone slamming against him.

“Keith!”cries out Hunk, arms around Keith pressing so tight he’s asphyxiating him. “We were so worried! You scared us!’’

Keith tries to answer but finds that he doesn’t have the air. The other doesn’t notice, too preoccupied in hugging him and… is that crying? He’s legit tearing up. For Keith?

“Hunk, you are going to choke him to death” Pidge interjects. Keith is finally released and breathing relieved when he feels a punch in the arm.

“You really did, though” She adds when he lets out a sound of protest “Don’t do that again”

“Okay, okay, guys, _leave him alone_ ” Lance, who apparently have been watching the scene amused, finally intervenes. Pidge and Hunk comply, leaving some room for Keith to watch the scene before him.

He thought no one in the PH would be awake. But there they are, all of them around the patio table. Coran and Allura, smiling relieved at him. Shiro, who seems to battle internally between killing or hugging him (maybe both). And well, Hunk and Pidge, who rushed to greet him as soon as he came back. Even Cachita the cat is there, sitting on one of the chair, one eye open to watch him.

Lance’s words from before ring again in his brain. _We care_ , he said. _It’s because we care._ It’s a warm thought so Keith lets himself be swept in by it.

Shiro comes to his side, eyes narrowed.

“Should I be angry with you? Is that the adult thing to do?”he asks, voice purposefully serious. Keith can see the corner of his mouth tugging down the clear intention of a smile. So he grins up at his friend, smugly, proudly.

“It is” he teases “But you don’t want to be the adult”

Shiro laughs softly and accepts the defeat. He offers his prosthetic arm and Keith takes it. They hug.

“I’m glad you are safe, kiddo” he mutters in his ear and Keith can’t help feeling the urge to apologize. Shiro senses it and rushes to add “Just don’t pull that kind of stunt again”

Keith smiles over his friend’s shoulder. His next words come out muffled, maybe a little teary.

“I won’t” And yes, he might call Shiro a little shit jokingly sometimes and he might  hate he has the cooking skills of a dishwasher, but the truth is, he’s his oldest, more faithful friend. Someone he could always count on.  Someone who, even back in Oregon, fitted well in that simple clockwork that used to be Keith’s life. Someone who Keith doesn’t regret to have on board in this new, strange, chaotic scheme that is his life in Argentina. “I won’t”

Keith hears some cooing. When he breaks out of the hug and looks to see, he discovers the rest of the group watching them: Hunk, Coran and Lance are all tearing up at the scene. Pidge is at their side, rolling her eyes while Allura pats Coran in the back comprehensively.

“Okay, let’s all calm down” orders Hunk after five seconds of Keith blankly staring at them in surprise. To be honest, he looks like he’s asking himself to calm down “Okay, okay, _okay_. I have a batch of brownies up in the apartment, are you all up for it?’’

“Nice!”Pidge exclaims happily. Her enthusiasm is echoed by the rest of the group, who makes sounds of excitement at the prospect. Keith, on the other hand, shifts uncomfortably.

It’s not that he doesn’t want brownies — it’d be nice actually. He also won’t reject the company. But there’s this reticence of visiting his neighbours apartments… he knows it’s obvious, he’s been invited multiple times and again and again he still feels like he isn’t _ready_ . What is he going to find, even? Why is he so _afraid_?

He wants to. He wonders how it is, the colour of their walls, the warmth, the laughter… he wants to belong in the space of those he’d like to call his friends. But at the same time, he feels like it’s not his place, like an intruder.  And he really, really doesn’t want to intrude. Not with them.

“Keith?”Hunk calls his name, his expression open and bright. “Are you coming up?’’

Many, many years ago, he was invited to a classmate’s house. His foster parents let him without much complaint, waving dismissively and going back to stitching someone’s knee. His ten year old self showed up to the place after school, excited to be someone’s guest, holding a neatly wrapped cake that was worth a good part of his savings. He wanted to make a good impression. He wanted to make a friend.

It turned out to be a cruel joke. The house was of an old local lady, one that wasn’t the least amused to see this child, old clothes and tattered shoes and threw eggs at him, confusing him with a burglar. The cake ended up in the floor.

Keith punched the kid the next day and got suspended from school. His foster parent asked the system to move him elsewhere for bad behaviour.

“Keith?”It’s not that he thinks this is the same situation. He’s a grown up, for god’s sake. But…

“Hunk, you won’t _imagine_ how much food we had at dinner” Lance’s voice says loudly, startling Keith out of his train of thought. “Right, Keith?’’

He looks over at him and he gets it. Lance is giving him an out.

“Yeah” Keith answers, muscles he didn’t know were stiff relaxing. He smiles to Hunk apologetically “Abuela Susana cooked for an army”

“Abuela Susana?”Pidge interjects, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes, the lady whose house we were at” he retorts, not understanding much where her amused expression comes from. What’s this huge deal everyone has with Abuela Susana’s name, anyways?

“But she is…” Pidge starts to speak, only to be interrupted by Lance.

“An adorable old woman!”he shouts, glaring pointedly at the girl. “Let it go, Pidge”

Keith coughs to bring the attention back to him.

“Thanks anyway, Hunk. Maybe next time?”he tries to compromise. Because, knowing the big guy, there will be a next time and he will try to say yes. Just. Baby steps. Hunk’s answering smile is blinding.

“Whenever you want, Keith!” he says and the sheer honestly he has when saying it warms Keith from head to toe.

 

* * *

 

His room at night is always charming, knitted in shadows and moonlight. Keith opens the door slowly, tired after a long day. His legs are kind of sore but his belly is full. He’s okay. He really is more than okay.

The window’s ajar. Keith narrows his eyes in it’s direction, thinking he sees something behind the glass. He gets close to it, just wondering, maybe…

Oh, yeah.

There’s a note peeking on the outside, tied loosely to a string. Keith knows Lance is up there. Keith knows Lance is just waiting for him to read it. It’s starting to become some kind of habit, day by day, be it night or morning, those little messages hanging out of Keith’s window, waiting to be discovered.

He opens it but doesn't take the note right away. Instead, he leans so half his body is out and glances upwards.

Up there is a dark hand hold the string. If it wasn’t for the soft glow illuminating it, Lance’s face would be shadowed too and he wouldn’t show that amused, soft expression.

They lock eyes.

Keith feels himself smile, he lets loose for a moment and he doesn’t know how it looks, he doesn’t know anything else other than his cheeks are aching for smiling so hard and then…

Lance’s expression is bewildered, totally taken aback when Keith’s smile turns smug, gets back into his room and closes the window shut. The message is left hanging unread.

What does it really mean to belong?

Keith never knew.

But in this room, far away from the place all his worries were born, belly full of food and chest bursting with laughter, Keith thinks… maybe, _maybe_ , he could one day understand.

Lance’s sounds of protest drifts through the window, muted by the glass. Keith lets him own amusement be heard, lets himself poke a little fun at his friend before actually getting the note and reading it.

There’s still a long road ahead. He hasn’t even stepped foot in the upstairs apartment, for god’s sake. There’s still so much work, so many roads to get lost in.

But Keith feels like he can do it, _wants to_ . He feels the pull in the right direction, the quiet flame growing inside, steady, bright. He feels instinct like an anchor, a guarantee that maybe maybe _maybe_

And how could he not follow it?

Keith has always been an impulsive person.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _“Biblioteca Nacional”_ National library  
>  _“Gracias, jovencito”_ Thank you, young man  
>  _“De nada”_ You are welcome  
>  _“El placer es todo mío”_ Pleasure’s all mine  
>  _“¿Necesitás ayuda?”_ Do you need help?  
>  _“ Víctor está enamorado”_ Victor is in love  
>  _“Hora del té. Mi casa. Querés venir?”_ Tea time. My house. Do you want to come over?  
>  _“Me encantaría”_ I would love to  
>  _“hay muchos maleducados”_ There are too many disrespectful people  
>  _“Hermoso”_ Beautiful  
>  _“Probaste el dulce de membrillo?'’_ Have you tried dulce de membrillo?  
>  _“Qué hermosos cuadros”_ Those are beautiful portraits!  
>  _“Pero estudio en Estados Unidos. Mis padres se mudaron ahí cuando era pequeño”_ But I study in the United States. My parents moved there when I was very little.  
>  _“Yo también me mudé de chiquita” _I also moved away from my home when I was very little__  
>  _“Sobró tarta de ayer”_ There’s leftover pie from yesterday!
> 
> * * *
> 
>  **Fun fact:** Abuela Susana and Victor are actually _my_ grandparents. It's a smoother, nicer version of them, like the illusion of them I had growing up. Nonetheless, with all their defects, they are a big part of my life and my identity. They deserve their place here. (Do y'all want a picture, though? I have a few funny pictures of my grandma, she's a total character)
> 
>  **Another fun fact:** ''Abuela Susana'' is not the lady's name. It LITERALLY means ''Grandma Susana'' but, between Keith's terrible spanish and her presenting herself as a grandmother of four right away... he certainly got that impression. Every time he says her ''name'', he's calling her grandma over and over, smh. That's the joke and that's what Lance doesn't tell him (because he thinks it's cuuuteee). It will be adressed later.
> 
> I cannot fathom how sorry I am for taking 5 months to make this chapter. It's not longer than the last one but it was really difficult to make and it kind of crossed one of the worst months of my life. It's all better now.  
> A BIG. BIG THANKS FOR ALL OF THOSE WHO COMMENTED AND KEPT COMMENTING. I SWEAR, I'M DOING THIS FOR YOU GUYS <3 <3  
> Hope you liked this one! See you around soon!  
> If you can comment, please do! It's what fuels me when inspiration and drive doesn't. YOUR WORDS MATTER<3
> 
> * * *
> 
> [''The Colour Of Hope'' Spotify Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/aimeejene/playlist/67C1F04nlS1PvjdtjrwKxK)


	6. mixtura de alta combustion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a festive day! After weeks of barely seeing each other, the crew meets once again for a trip through the Buenos Aires centre amidst celebrations.  
> Also, Keith is apparently secretly super buff. Huh. Not that Lance is hung up on that.  
> *  
> aka “Lance, we were just lost in four hundred year catacomb”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title from Bersuit's song ''La Argentinidad al palo''  
> ([''You can listen to it in the fic's Spotify Playlist]()  
> )  
>  **BIG THANKS TO[BO](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zizzani/pseuds/Zizzani) AND [PARISA](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stellarparallax/works) WHO BETA'ED!! YOU GUYS ARE BIG SWEETHEARTS AND ILY **

PART 2: WINTER

  
  


Surprises are a strange, crazy thing. 

They push and pull, and it would be a cheesy metaphor to say so out loud but sometimes they feel like those waves back in the Varadero of his childhood, always taking Lance with his guard down, always making him stumble over his own feet.

The thing about Lance and surprise, it’s never so linear. And maybe that’s the trick. Sometimes it just lasts a second — making his breath briefly non existent. Often times, it’s a warm, welcoming presence and Lance lets disbelief hug him, accepts the embrace like a washed out memory. And, even if the waves comparison is the first thing that comes to Lance’s mind, surprises rarely have the force and intensity to overthrow him.

Surprises are the last thing Lance thought would drown him.

 

* * *

 

Lance is dreaming.

It’s not the first time he’s aware of it. He breathes in, the clear blue skies filling his lungs. This is not the first time he feels his limbs immobile while somehow everything keeps working, he’s running forwards and —-

The cliff.

The nothingness

Lance stops, just at the edge. He falters there, rocking his heels back and forth and everything feels so distant and so real at the same time. His throat is dry. His vision starts to blur.

Someone takes his hand and Lance looks their way.

He is dreaming.

He’s aware of it — painfully, fearfully.

It’s obvious, ever present in the way Keith looks over to him. It’s obvious in how his eyes are wrinkling at the corner. It’s obvious it isn’t real but Lance can’t shake the sensation...

Yet.

_ Yet. _

Everything explodes.

It’s the end of the world and the sound tears apart the blue skies, the green grass, the daisies, the edge of the cliff, the hand in his and Keith’s eyes, disappearing as if they never existed.

Lance wakes up startled.

The apartment is silent for a few beats, quiet as the sunlight that slips through the curtain into his room. And then, when he’s starting to think the loud noise was all in his head, he hears laughter.

“Jesus Christ, Hunk” Pidge’s voice says between chuckles from the living room. “You are going to wake up the whole building up”

_ It woke ME up _ , thinks Lance, a little annoyed. He can barely remember the dream but, for some reason, he’s sure it was a pleasant one. He wonders briefly if he could come back to it if he fell asleep again, but another loud bang shatters the thought. 

What the absolute  _ fuck _ is going on? Curiosity wins over laziness and he decides to get up once for all. Also, he’s kind of hungry. 

He stays on the edge of the bed for a few seconds anyway, trying to fish some coherent thoughts from the tired haze of his mind — everything feels so muddied in the mornings, between the shadowed room and the closed window. He would like to leave it open in the nights so fresh air and sunlight could sneak in on him in the mornings but it’s already winter, which means the air is chilly and sunshine, merely a touch.

It’s also nice to leave it open in case Keith’s singing to himself in his room again. 

Okay, he’s  _ definitely _ too incoherent now. Time to get up.

When he finally drags himself to the living room, he sees Pidge sprawled over on their ratty couch, his laptop balancing on her lap and her thermos and mate settled on the floor. She hears him come and actually looks away from the computer to give him a smile.

“Good morning!” She greets him cheerfully, hair still messy from the pillow. Lance checks the clock. Nine in the morning. She’s in too much of a good mood to have just woken up. He briefly considers sending her to bed again but his original curiosity wins over.

“What was that clatter?” He asks, scooting her legs away so he can sit down and trying to focus all his consciousness on not knocking over the mate or the thermos.

Pidge’s answering smile is similar to his nieces on Christmas

“Hunk’s cooking” And, okay, fair. If he focuses, he can smell some beef and garlic in the air. It makes his mouth water.

“At nine in the morning?” 

Without waiting for an answer, he leans over the couch and looks that Hunk is moving around in their tiny kitchen, being pretty soundly about it, grunting and muttering to himself as he grabs spoons and spices. “Hunk, buddy? At nine in the morning?”

His friend doesn’t turn around, but blindly raises his hand as though saying  _ not now, Lance _ .

“Dude, when did you go to sleep?” Pidge retorts instead, raising an eyebrow. Lance settles on the couch again, shoving her legs away  _ again _ , how is she so _ slippery _ .

“Around two. I think. We stayed at Abuela Susana’s for dinner again and time kind of flew by” He says between yawns and stops when he sees Pidge’s amused look.

“What?” 

“You  _ did _ tell him “Abuela Susana” is not the lady’s name and means ‘Grandma Susana’, didn’t you?” she asks and it takes Lance aback and he’s too tired for this so maybe that’s why his dumb tired mind decides to not lie, his belly decides to flutter and...

“I didn’t” He mutters, looking away from Pidge and settling his gaze on the clock i the wall. Pidge’s smirk widens.

“Yeah, I could assume that. I pity him” She says. 

He’s too tired for this and wants the topic to end. He closes his eyes and his mouth is running before he actually thinks it through.

“Shut it, Pidge, it’s cute.” Lance opens his eyes, horrified after hearing his own words. Did he really just say that? Oh no. Oh, fuck,  _ no _ . He looks at Pidge, pathetically hoping she missed it.

“Oh? Is it?” Nope. No luck. Fuck fuck fuck, it’s too early for this! 

“It’s a _ cute old lady _ ! Just shut it, Pidge!” He scrambles to answer, trying very hard to not be too efusive, has he always moved this much? Pidge, the devious minion, the maleficent gremlin, cackles like a madman.

From the kitchen, Hunk’s deep laughter makes Lance’s head turn sharply its way, absolutely betrayed. That’s a traitor if he has seen one “Hunk! Not you too!”

They are still laughing so,  _ of course _ , he does the only mature thing he can think of and sticks his tongue out.  Duh.

Pidge abruptly stops, rolls her eyes so hard he feels he’ll have to pick up her eyeballs later. Then, as a peace offering, because there’s a soft creature underneath, she hands him back his (now fixed) computer.

“There you go, you big baby”

Lance smiles triumphantly. It  _ did _ make them stop, huh. “You were swimming in malware there, so I don’t know how you still made it work...”

“I’m just that awesome” He interrupts, smiling as he takes the computer. Pidge rolls her eyes again, but doesn’t deny it. 

“Anyway, it’s fixed now. Sorry for taking two weeks in getting to it.” 

“Thank you Pidgey” he leans over and ruffles her hair. She huffs, but doesn’t stop smiling and doesn’t even make a sassy remark.  _ Wow _ . “What’s got you in this good mood? And what’s that smell?”

Hunk bursts in, hurriedly, holding a spoon and a pot. In two big steps, he crosses the room and practically shoves the food into Pidge’s mouth.

It’s funny, how her face lights up while she chews, bright and joyful like a child. She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath and swallows slowly. She stays like that, eyes closed, an appreciative small smile on her lips and Lance thinks he’s never seen her this peaceful.

Interesting, how much you learn about people even while you’ve known them for a long time.

It makes him almost sad to break the spell, but damn if he has to know

“So, Hunk, will you tell me what magic dish emptied the demon of her evil attitude?” he says, then dodges to avoid a punch in the arm.

“Locro, Lance” Hunk answers, barely suppressing a smile while he pats said demon’s head to calm her down. “It’s  _ Nueve de julio _ today!” 

“Oh, that’s why we don’t have class, then. Argentina’s revolution day, right?” 

Pidge, soothed after another bite of locro from the spoon, shakes her head no.

“That’s  _ veinticinco de mayo _ . The traditional meal for it are empanadas ”

“I hadn’t perfected them yet!” Hunk protests, as if the beautiful hunk of a friend owed Pidge or Lance  _ anything. _

“And that’s  _ fine. _ It’s already huge that you are making this”  Pidge reassures him and then looks back to Lance before becoming once again a walking encyclopedia “Nueve de julio is the day Argentina officially got their independence. It was, let’s say, six years after the big revolution? ” 

Lance hums appreciatively, then makes grabby hands for the spoon.

“There you go!” Hunk says, before sinking the spoon in the pot and shoving it into Lance’s mouth.

It looks like  _ caldosa _ . It  _ kind _ of tastes like  _ caldosa _ . And, as everything Hunk does, it’s delicious. He makes a move to get more but his friend beats him to it, spins around and walks back to the kitchen.

“I was thinking we can go to  _ Plaza de Mayo _ today” Pidge says, interrupting Lance’s pouting “It’s near  _ the Obelisco _ …”

Lance’s mind supplies “The giant penis” in answer and he has to try very hard to keep a straight face.  _ Ha. _

“Stop it, Lance. I can practically _ hear it” _

Apparently, he failed. He hasn’t let Pidge forget his denomination for the monument (even though the trip there was almost four months ago) and the disgusted scowl in his friend’s face shows it. 

She recovers fast enough, though. Fast enough to hand him her  _ mate _ and nonchalantly add:

“...the locals always throw a parade or a fair on patriotic days so I think we could go and ask shiro and the others if they want to tag along.

“Oh! Parade!” Lance sips the mate. It’s actually sounds pretty fun. With all the partial exams gone, he hasn’t got a chance to hang out much with his friends. Last night was the first time he saw Keith in… what? Three weeks? 

It would be nice to hang with the complete group again

“I’m in, Pidgey”

 

* * *

 

 

Lance doesn’t consider himself to be a travel person. He thinks that — if he had the guts and the chance — he could do something as spontaneous as backpacking through Europe or jumping on an alien spaceship to another galaxy. But in his actual life, the real Lance that isn’t in his imagination (or an alternative universe), hasn’t seen many places except of Oregon, Florida and some beaches in Cuba.  He’s not a travel person, that’s just a simple fact.

Nevertheless, Lance  _ does _ think of himself as a people person. A person’s person. A people of the people.  _ Una persona del pueblo _ . A people’s lover. Okay, he doesn’t know  _ the term _ for it but the meaning is clear. He belongs with crowds like this, thrives off the buzzing, the colours and the smells and the sensation of pertinence that can be felt even by a foreigner like him. 

Maybe that’s why he loves parades, fairs and big crowdy celebrations — he can’t help but feel there’s an indescribable something glue-ing everyone together, letting each self be who they are without letting them out. 

Maybe — he also thinks — that’s why people can be more easily manipulated while in crowds, thrown across the wind as a flutter of fallen leaves, spinning around closely together.

“I can’t believe this was my idea” grumbles Pidge, after being shoved for the sixth time. “I hate big crowds”

They are walking through one of the main avenues,  _ Avenida de Mayo _ . In a normal day, colectivos and cars alike would race through it, trying to get to their destinations. Today, though, the avenue is cut and instead of vehicles, people roam freely through the street, checking out the countless small vendor tents placed on the sides.

“Do you want me to carry you on my back?” Hunk offers, even though he looks way more focused on the food being sold and the people cooking it. Lance watches him stare down the vendors, amused. It wouldn’t surprise him if by the end of the day Hunk had a couple numbers and recipes on his hand — his polite stubbornness can get him anywhere.

“Do you want me to take your hand, Pidgey?” Lance teases, earning himself a glare “Or we could ask Shiro to carry you over his shoulder”

“If I do that, you are taking a picture for Matt”  Shiro says. He’s calmly walking alongside them, wearing an horrendous set of khaki pants and a rainbow tank top. It’s a crime to fashion. Lance should be throwing holy water at him. “Or you could ask Keith. He’s as capable of carrying someone over his shoulder as me” 

Lance shouldn’t be so impressed by this information. 

“He is!?” He turns to Keith on his other side, who is eyeing a traditional set of mate covered in leather. “You are!?”

Keith doesn’t answer. Lance pokes his bicep to get his attention  and —  _ yep, definitely muscle there.  _ Cool. Not like he’s jealous or anything. Cool cool cool.

His friend snaps out of his trance.

“What, Lance?” Even though he’s being blunt, there’s no bite in his tone. Lance is quite proud of himself — a few months ago, he would have taken offense. Now, it’s kind of like… poking a grumpy cat who gets randomly adopted by grandmas and makes weird metaphors about stew. And who is secretly super buff. Yeah. 

“Why didn’t you tell me you were as buff as Shiro?” he asks. Keith stares him down,  then looks pointedly at Shiro (whose built chest can be seen from the loose tank top) and then back at Lance.  _ Are you blind or did you lose your mind _ ?, he is silently saying.

“I’m” Keith pauses “definitely  _ not _ as buff as Shiro”

Lance rolls his eyes.

“Don’t be modest, Mulletman, you know what I mean” 

“I don’t”

Behind him, Pidge is complaining about her feet while she climbs over Hunk’s back. Yep, there’s an example.

“Could you carry Pidge over your shoulder?” Lance asks and he can  _ see  _ Keith trying to dodge the question. Oh, this absolute motherfucker. “ _ Answer me, Keith _ ”

The other breathes deeply and averts Lance’s eyes.

“Yeah” 

“Could you carry someone in your back while doing pushups?” Lance won’t give up on this question. He’s not trying to compete, he tells himself, but he also  _ kind of is _ ? Because damn, if Lance could carry someone that isn’t his five year old nephew while doing push-ups, he’d  _ brag about it so much _ . Keith is being a  _ real life hero  _ here, okay?

“Depends on the person…?” The real life hero answers. He doesn’t look as uncomfortable as he looks confused. Lance makes a mental note to pay attention to his body language in case he is. When Keith doesn’t feel at ease, he starts to hunch his shoulders, retreating into himself. Lance has seen it happening  _ especially _ in class “Who are we talking about?”

“He’s talking about you carrying him, Keith!” shouts Pidge, the absolute devil and the most obnoxious of liars, from her vantage spot on Hunk’s back. She knows Lance won’t kick her if she’s on the big guy, that little fuck. “Do you want to ask him if he could bench-press you too, Lance?”

“I don’t!” He practically shrieks. Because he  _ doesn’t  _ “I’m not asking if you could carry  _ me _ ! I’m just asking! Can’t a guy just ask?”

Hunk shrugs, nearly unbalancing Pidge with the movement. Hah. She deserves it.

“I mean, those are pretty weird questions, buddy” he says, smiling teasingly. What a traitor.

“I’m just a dude asking another dude if he could carry someone, Hunk” Lance states blankly “Manly stuff. Unless it makes Keith uncomfortable, of course”

“I’m fine” Keith chimes in, looking pretty amused by the exchange. Glad someone’s having fun “And I could”

Lance doesn’t understand

“Could what?”

“Carry you on my back while doing push ups” He simply says, before adding, with something that, in Keith’s language, very much resembles a smile “You don’t seem to weigh that much”

Pidge lets out the ugliest laugh ever. 

This is  _ so  _ rude.

“Are you trying to roast me?” Lance doesn’t know how his voice is sounding right now and he isn’t sure he wants to. “I am kind of proud. Good try, buddy”

Keith beams at the praise. Day after day, Lance keeps getting surprises from him. 

It always makes him wonder what might come next. 

***

Words are a familiar, tangible thing.

It amazes Lance, again and again, how being in a foreign country feels so, well, foreign, but also so familiar at the same time. Maybe he can’t get the slang as quick as Pidge but the spanish flows around him, dancing in quiet, restless ways. 

“ _ Empanadas, lleven sus empanadas _ !” a vendor is screaming, trying to sell the contents on his basket. Lance smells the air while he passes him and the man throws him a funny look. Before Lance can open his mouth to give him a cheeky answer, Keith is tugging at him to keep going.

“You could ask him for a recipe, Hunk” teases Pidge. The big dude doesn’t seem offended at it. Instead, he seems to consider the idea for a moment, before shaking his head dejectedly.

“I’m not cheating” he says, smiling.

A vendor behind chants they are selling cake.

Shiro looks between Lance, Hunk and Pidge curiously.

“What’s with the empanadas?” he asks.

“I was given an assignment by my culinary teacher like a month ago” Hunk explains “I have to learn how to cook empanadas like a native, basically. It’s a huge chunk of my final grade”

Shiro whistles.

“That seems like a lot. How is it going?”

Hunk’s shoulders hunch. Lance catches Pidge’s eye, who looks just as worried as he feels. The journey to make empanadas is proving to be, as of a few days ago, a total disaster.

“Hunk’s… working on it” Lance answers, before getting at Hunk’s side and throwing an arm over his shoulder “Aren’t you, buddy?”

His friend raises his head and smiles a little. It’s a bit forced, he can tell, but he’s trying. It makes Lance hope he had the perfect words, those that could make everything better and solve his best friend’s problems in a heartbeat.

“And until then, you are just giving us a lot to eat” Pidge’s voice says and she’s hugging Hunk, too, smiling in the genuine way only the gremlin can smile, when she feels affection and doesn’t know how to handle it so she lets it out, expresses it awkwardly, raw.

“Yeah!” Lance looks at Keith and Shiro, now. For so long, it’s been Pidge, Hunk and him, travelling around, sharing their living space. But now, these neighbours are slowly starting to creep in the strange scheme of their lives. It’s not that noticeable yet, Lance knows Keith hasn’t  _ even stepped foot on their apartment yet _ , but it’s there, _ it’s there. _

***

When they reach the end of the Avenue (and the parade), in front of them it’s  _ Plaza de Mayo.  _ It’s a squared park. A little underwhelming, to be honest. Lance doesn’t understand the european tourists that keep enthusiastically taking pictures of the pigeons.

Pidge, so tiny between the crowd she could be her own tourist attraction, takes up the part of tourist guide without much enthusiasm.

“On that corner, there’s Casa Rosada, it’s like the White House but, well, pink”  she says signalling to the building on the other extreme of the park. It’s not that far. Lance would be more amused about it being  _ pink _ if Pidge was less, uh, emotionless about it. “On this corner, this old thing is El Cabildo. The original decision maker building. It was built a fuckton of time ago” 

She scoffs, then looks at the four of them. 

“The end”

They all stare back at her in silence. Hunk pinches the bridge of his nose, speaking first.

“This is the first place to visit in tourist guides and you just… completely ruined it, Pidge” 

“Are you saying you could do better?” she stares at Hunk defiantly.

“Not him, but I could” a voice tiredly says just behind Lance, who jumps a good five feet with a loud shriek. Keith gives him an amused look, which is ridiculous, sudden strangers can be  _ dangerous. _

Thankfully, the guy behinds him doesn’t seem to be a threat. Seemingly not older than twenty and with a very funny cap on, he looks like he’d rather be anywhere else than helping a bunch of dumb tourists.

Shiro, bless his heart, opens his mouth to surely speak everyone’s mind. Lance’s particularly screaming “ _ What the fuck?” _ and “ _ Please god, let it not be another furry” _

“Uh, hi” he says instead and,  _ wow _ , Keith wasn’t kidding when he called Shiro an useless dork. Lance isn’t appointing him for future representation. On anything. “So… you are a tourist guide?” 

Way to go, Captain Obvious. Was it the cap or the tired ‘I-can't-believe-this-is-my-job’ face?

The poor guy — Lance is forgiving him for the fright —- positively  _ stabs _ him with his gaze. Then his expression softens and he breathes in and out. Deeply.

“My name is Federico and I’m in charge of free walking tours sponsored by my company” He recites then points to what, Lance notices, is an umbrella with a logo by his feet “We go out every day at eleven, two and five o’clock and this” he vaguely points to Plaza de Mayo “ is our meeting spot”

Lance is pretty surprised. Wasn’t it holidays?

“You work on  _ feriados _ ?” he blurts out, before mentally hitting himself. Thankfully, Federico doesn’t look like he wants to stab him with the umbrella. He just sighs again, as if talking with a young child.

“I work every day,  _ specially  _ on _ feriados _ . That’s how it is’' he says, then smiles genuinely for the first time “You wouldn’t believe all the tourists that come for our patriotic holidays to eat  _ empanadas _ and drink  _ vino _ ”

Hunk wiggles nervously at the mention of  _ empanadas _ . Lance offhandedly thinks the subject is starting to get a bit too traumatic for his taste.

Pidge looks at her phone.

“It’s almost eleven” she seems a little bit more enthusiastic about getting an actual guide than wandering around the crowded Plaza de Mayo on their own “Wanna take it?”

“Fuck it” blurts Keith suddenly and when everyone turns to stare at him, he doesn’t falter “We should get someone who knows what they are talking about. Uh, no offense Pidge”

“None taken”

“It’s a plan, then?” Lance asks. He’s excited about this, somehow. It was a nice turnaround of plans, one he didn’t expect but damn him if he lets it pass. No one objects and he turns to the guide, who’s as chill as ever “We are going!”

**

Twenty minutes, a few more people and fifteen selfies later, the group is ready. The air’s starting to get more chilly, Lance wishes he’d brought a warmer jacket.

The first stop is walking through Plaza de Mayo. It turns out that, while the buildings Pidge pointed at were important in a republican sentiment, it’s the squared park that holds the most importance.

“Again and again, argentinians gather here in protest of what they think fair, what they want…” Lance thinks of fights, of factions pulled close against each other, combusting. He thinks of flags and screams and cries of desperation.

“So many people have been arrested here” Federico’s brow furrows and he leads them to the center of the park, where a monument stands. A circle around it it’s painted with white paint on the floor. “This, for example…”

He suddenly pauses, shoved by a japanese couple that bursts in to take pictures. When they are done, the poor dude breathes and starts over again.

“ _ La Pirámide de Mayo _ ” he says, pointing at the monument “was erected in commemoration of the indepence but it wasn’t truly important until the last military dictatorship” 

A confused silence spreads through the group. Lance knows offhandedly about this — stories from home, from history class —- but he still doesn’t understand what it has to do with the monument.

“In the last dictatorship around 30.000 people were taken and, as we call it, disappeared by the military government.  _ Desaparecidos.  _ Civilians, young people, students and workers at its core. There are no bodies or tombs to cry on and very few of those péople were actually released…” The guide summarizes. Even though he’s saying automatically, there’s a grave lilt to his voice, a hurt undertone that Lance has heard, back at home, back when his mother talked about the beach and Varadero and the Cuba left behind. He wonders if the rest notice as well of if it’s just him, accustomed to the feeling of it covering everything like a second skin “A group of mothers whose children were taken started to protest every thursday, silently marching in circles around this monument, asking for information about their missing children and grandchildren, resisting the police and the bad press”

Shiro’s voice slips in.

“Abuelas de Plaza de Mayo” he says and then blushes when everyone’s attention is on him. The guide just smiles.

“Yes. Back then,  _ Madres de Plaza de Mayo _ , looking for their children. Then,  _ Abuelas de Plaza de Mayo _ , grandmothers looking for their missing grandchildren, babies and infants taken from their captive mothers, a lot of them pregnant, and placed with another family, who hid their identity from them….”

Lance thinks of his grandmother, standing tall in the door of his childhood home, waving goodbye as her whole family was pulled away from her, off to a new life. Sand in her hair, wrinkled face stoic and unmovable, a dark marble statue regal and beautiful while everything else falls apart

Lance thinks of his mother, begging in the kitchen while he sits on the top of the stairs _ , mamá mamá mamá please, don’t make me leave you _ . And Abuela’s firm voice, slipping through every crack of the old house like the smell of half fried churros in the morning,  _ this my home, i’m staying, i’m staying, i’m staying _

_ “...  _ and I’m happy to say over a hundred missing grandchildren were, well, found thanks to DNA tests and constant activism since democracy was recovered”

Lance thinks of his nephews, bright eyes that never closed with the old lullaby of the wind howling against the roof, bare feet that knew one shore and one shore only. 

He's taken from his thoughts when someone pokes him on the back.

''Hey, are you okay?'' Keith asks. His brow is furrowed and he seems...  _ concerned. _

''Yes'' Lance automatically answers, then stops and actually thinks ''Yes, i'm fine''

Keith keeps looking at him intensely, as if trying to guess a lie.  Lance's mind takes him back to that day after Risolia's class, when he freaked out on him, and feels a little guilty. That’s not going to happen again.  He’s fine. He really is.

“Are  _ you _ fine, though?” he decides to retort. Keith’s expression of mild concern morphs and now he looks plain confused.

“Why wouldn’t I be fine?”

Lance pretends to think.

“Hm, I don’t know” he says, then starts counting with his fingers “Hideous mullet. You have no spanish knowledge in a country that speaks it, a terrible sense of fashion...”

“Oh, come on, there’s nothing wrong with my clothes!” Keith interrupts him, throwing his arms in the air, frustrated. 

Lance makes a show of looking him up and down and before he can open his mouth to comment on the _cropped leather jacket_ and _lord of the rings graphic tee_ _combination, jesus_ , Pidge shouts from the other side of the park.

“Hey, idiots, can you stop bickering? The tour continues! We are leaving you here!” They both turn around to see that the group is  _ actually _ getting away, a resigned Federico on the lead. Keith goes to walk besides Shiro, pointedly ignoring him. Lance is left sulking at the tail of the group, Hunk carrying Pidge besides him.

“You are in no place to criticize his clothes” Hunk cheekily says.

“Not now, big guy”

“I’ve seen you wear socks with sandals. Socks. And sandals.”

Pidge looks between horrified and impressed.

“Both?” she asks Hunk who, even more cheekily than before, nods.

“Both”

This is treason. Of the worst kind.

“I was trying to be ironic, Hunk! Ironic!”

* * *

They are walking through  _ La Manzana de las Luces _ and Keith still hasn’t talked to him. Not even snickered at his jokes. And Lance put  _ effort _ in them, they even broke a laugh out of the guide. The  _ guide _ . Yes, that guy that seems to crave death? That same guy, Keith? He laughed and  _ you didn’t _ .

Ther group stops.

Lance lets go of his petty argument for a few seconds to admire the old, historic buildings. He looks at the teenagers that crawl out of the old high school, trying to remember if he was that tiny at their age, if his clothes were as rambunctious and colorful as theirs, if his laugh was that  _ loud _ . 

Oh, jesus, he’s only twenty two. He’s not  _ eighty _ . Since when  does he think like an old man?

''We are now going to enter the underground catacombs that were built under the city in the colonial era'' The guide says, startling Lance

''Wait, what!?'' he says, not proud of hearing his voice a little higher than it should ''Catacombs!?''

''Are you scared, Lance?'' Keith teases, turning around for the first time to face him. It's the first time he's paid attention to him in twenty minutes and it’s a little unfair because he isn’t  _ scared _ . He just likes to be in the open. Prefers the bus to the metro. The rooftop to the basement. The beach to the mountain. The air instead of deep catacombs under the city. Yup.

He vocalizes his frustration in the most blunt answer he can muster.

'' _ You _ are scared'' And well, that might have not been convincing. Keith lifts an eyebrow, unimpressed. Why does Lance like this guy? He's annoying. ''I'm not! Hunk, tell him!''

''I'm not getting in this'' his best friend. or better said, traitor, shrugs and walks towards the guide, who is already leading the group towards the catacombs entrance. Which isn’t half as tetric as it sounds.

''You are on my bad list now!'' This time Lance means it.

''No, I’m not!'' the big guy voice booms, already below the ground and, wow, that sounded... like a  _ deep  _ cave. No sex joke intended. Just freaky. Brilliant.

''Lance'' Keith’s serious now, way less teasing, more calm''Let's just go, okay?''

He breathes in.

''Okie dokie. no problemo. Cool cool cool cool''

''Lance do you want me to take your hand or something''

”cool cool cool cool—-''

''Lance you are freaking me out”

He stops on his tracks. Breathes in. Breathes out.

''I'm fine”

Keith’s eyes narrow

''Sure?'' he asks. Lance makes his decision.

''Yup. Let's go”

He doesn't take Keith's hand but they are side to side, shoulders brushing. When he breathes again, he can feel Keith's eyes searching, caring, guarding. In a silent, strange way, his silence is loud. Reassuring.

_ I'm here, _ it's saying.  _ I'm here _ .

Knowing that he's being in some way looked for makes Lance brave. Makes him feel less lonely as he walks in and darkness washes upon them, allows him to amaze at the details the guide gives ahead, relaxes his muscles and his concentration until he's just walking, thinking, getting lost in his own thoughts once again.

He's so used to the sheer power of the spoken word, of the way it burdens and remembers. He's used to hearing and speaking and everything is direct, clear in the jumbled mess between english and spanish, familiar in ways that silence is not.

And there's Keith, silent at his side, yet saying so much.

Lance muses about words but, this time, he also muses about the lack of them.

**

''I'm sorry about calling your clothes ugly'' Lance wonders how far his voice can go, crashing against the catacombs walls, revealing themselves between the dirt and the dust.

Keith's, on the other hand, sounds closer than ever. It's not like Lance can see but in some way, he can perfectly picture the way he's smiling as he laughs, quietly, leaning in with a gentle brush of shoulders.

''I know you don't mean it'' he says ''And, on the other hand, it was petty fighting. It's normal''

''Is it?'' Lance asks, because wow, is it really? Have they been bickering so much? Is this... just them? That's how Keith sees their relationship: petty fighting and meaningless insults?

''Isn't it?'' Keith retorts and he doesn't sound so sure now. Oh, cool, he ruined  _ that _ now. ''Isn't that normal between friends?''

Words are important. 

And Lance has never considered this. 

''Friends?'' 

“Of course, you are my friend”

Lance feels the wind before the words hit him full force. 

And they dwell, spread through Lance’s veins, filling him with a lightness, a buzzing he’s come to associate to many, many things but never thought he would feel for this. Because  _ friends _ . Of course they are friends. They’ve been hanging out for a few months now, Lance cares about him. But hearing the word, so simple and so wonderful, from Keith feels, _ feels— _

“Of course”  he hears himself, amazed at how soft his own voice is “Of course we are friends, Keith”

_ —-The clatter of the rain against stones, the same old cafecito in the mornings, routines and routines and routines spinning around in the wheel of habit, that traps him and frees him at the same time _

“I’m glad we are friends” Lance adds, giving himself the time to savour the word.

Keith smiles at him, small and content.

Words spin in the wheel of habit, freed by the new meanings.

*

They are lost.

Lance really fucking hates caves.

''This wasn't supposed to happen'' Keith's voice says from besides him and to be honest, it would be maddening if they hadn't just established being friends.

So, yeah, Lance tones it down a little.

''What makes you say that? The fact that we took the wrong turn? Or that there's no guide in sight? Or that we are in a catacomb that thousands of years old and...'' Lance says but is interrupted by Keith's hand on his shoulder. Yeah. That was pretty toned down. Definitely.

''Relax, Lance. We’ll get out''

''I really fucking hate caves'' 

''I know''

''I blame you''

''That's fair” 

''Am I sounding like an hysterical grandma?''

''No'' Keith answers and wow, that's a relief ''More like an hysterical wife''

Lance doesn't pinch him. But damn, he really wants to.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Wow, he can't see  _ a thing.  _ A few lanterns are hanging from the walls but Lance is sure the dim light is going to be gone any second. That’d be just his luck.

''Keith, are you still here?''

''Yes''

''We are still walking''

''Yes''

''Do you think the cave's haunted?''

Keith stops dead on his tracks with no warning and Lance has to make a really strange maneuver with his legs to avoid tripping.

His friend’s voice sounds too thrilled when he repeats, word by word...

“Do  _ you  _ think the cave’s haunted?”

Why did Lance even ask?

*

“We shouldn’t have chased that cat” Keith’s voice says from somewhere in the vicinity. The light is getting dimmer and dimmer the more they walk.

“It was so  _ cute _ , though!” Lance whines and, for a second, he’s sure Keith’s smiling in reply. 

“Very, but we really shouldn’t have” he answers and  _ yeah, okay, he’s got a point. _

“You get lost a lot, what do you usually do?” He asks “And please don’t say ‘stay in my place until shiro picks me up’. I have a bet with Pidge”

Keith furrows his brow.

“A be-? Wait, no! I don’t get lost that much! I just don’t have the best sense of direction!”

Needless to say, Lance starts counting with his fingers.

“I saw you studying at three am on a bar—” he points out, to be immediately interrupted by a very distressed Keith.

“I wasn’t lost, I just— “

“ I rescued you from Abuela Susana’s claws”

“Don’t mess with Abuela Susana!”

Teasing Keith is fun, in a terrifying, breathless sense, like dancing around a wild animal. Lance only pities the fact that he can’t see Keith’s expression clearly but he’ll manage with what he has.

He lets a beat pass.

“Delmarva” Lance simply says.

Keith’s mouth shuts close. He tightens his lips and looks elsewhere. Lance wants to be proud, to chant victory until his throat gets. But… Keith’s kind of  _ pouting  _ and it’s  _ disarming _ , well, they are friends now, aren’t they?

All in all, it’s a pretty easy decision.

“Let’s just look for an exit, dumbass” he says, swallowing his pride. He nudges softly with his arm and waits….

It’s ten seconds until Keith nudges back. Lance makes sure to look elsewhere, and smiles.

*

“Keith?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s dark”

“I know”

“How can I know where you are?”

“Uh, you are besides me” Pause “I think”

“See? I have no way of _ knowing _ ”

“Just follow my voice, Lance”

“But I can’t. I’m trying to focus on what you are saying”

Silence.

“Hey, what if we do a chant? I say Wild and you say Cats!”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not how it goes—-” 

“Wild!”

“Wildcats!”

“No, Keith, no!”

“Yes! It’s Wildcats!” Groan “What’s even the point?”

“We’ll work on it”

*

Silence

*

“Keith…”

“What is it, Lance?”

“I think I see the light”

“You are not dying, Lance”

“No! I mean, I really see  _ a light ahead _ ! I think that’s the exit!”

*

It shouldn’t be surprising that the first thought Lance has while walking up the stairs is his grandmother’s voice.

“And god said, let there be light” Past words meld with the present as the first ray of sunlight warms his face and it’s a minute or two, when he finally turns to Keith to discover he’s watching him curiously and realises he’s said it out loud. “Now, where are we?”

This is not the place they entered.

“Uh” Keith stutters “I don’t have a clue”

Brilliant.

Lance takes out his phone and clicks on the messenger app.

.

**you (12:48)**

hey pidget, we are out, we got lost, where are you guys?

He waits a few seconds.

“It sends but she doesn’t seem to receive it” he tells Keith, who is sporting a carefully neutral expression.

“They must still be under, then”

A silence spreads and Lance looks around. The buildings are pretty similar to the ones from before so they haven’t emerged too far from their starting point. At least, it’s the same neighbourhood.

“ _ Lance _ ” Keith calls suddenly. He’s got a weird expression on his face, eyes blown wide. He looks…  _ horrified _ .

“Yeah?”

“I’ve just realised…” he trails off and Lance is starting to get kind of creeped out. Does he have a spider on his face or something? “We could have used our phones as lanterns”

Lance feels something hitting his forehead and belatedly realizes it’s his own palm.

“I can’t fucking believe it” he says and god, god “We are dumbasses”

Keith’s horrified expression is starting to crack around the edges.

“We are” he agrees and wow, his eyes are even  _ wider _ . Is he finally losing it? Was underground even worse for Keith that it seemed to be? “Oh my  _ god _ , we are so fucking dense”

Lance lets out a sound of protest.

“ _ You _ are dense! I was scared!” He retorts but his answer doesn’t faze Keith.

“So you admit you were scared?” he asks, a faint smirk flashing over his features. In a second, it’s gone but the underlying mockery hangs in the air.

“ _ Fuck yes _ , we were lost in a four hundred year catacomb!” Lance cries out, not feeling an ounce of shame. He owns his shit, dammit.

A silence spreads, in which they stare at each other and Lance can feel the absurd, stupid, bizarre reality settling in.

Keith’s voice sounds detached when he speaks again.

“Lance, we were just lost in four hundred year catacomb” he says and that’s all it takes, the magnitude of  _ ridiculous _ this whole situation is dwelling and Lance is grinning and Keith’s mask is breaking and they are both smiling wide now, petty arguments forgotten.

“Let’s just walk around” Lance proposes. He doesn't feel like waiting still until the rest find them or answer their damn phones. Keith nods in answer, adjusting his backpack.

“What do you have in there, dude? It looks pretty heavy” He blurts, trying to make some conversation.

His friend shifts nervously. 

“I wanted to study in the bus” Keith says, then sighs. “The second partial exam of most of my classes are soon and…I need a really high grade to not go to final”

“Oh” And once again, Lance is taken aback. Keith, failing? It seems… impossible.

“Yeah”

He resists exclaiming something like “you!? really!?”. It would be pointless… and insensitive. And that’s not the friend ( _ friend! _ ) he wants to be. Instead, he asks.

“What do you think did it?”

“Could we… not talk about my grades, please?” Keith snaps, then recoils “Sorry it’s just…”

“You are not in the mood, dude. I understand it.” Lance says and jumps a bit to avoid tripping on a big stone in the middle of the sidewalk “I tend to do that a lot, y’know… shutting out.”

“I’m not —-”

“You kind of are. But that’s not the point.”

Keith’s silent now. He’s hearing him

“The point is… you can shut out and drift away all you need to. But you have people ready to help you if you want them to.” Lance grins “I am here for you if you need me, dude”

“Thanks, Lance”

“At your service! Now, where do you think the fancy cafes are?”

 

*

They don’t find the fancy cafés. Instead, they somehow end up in Plaza De Mayo again, in front of the monument and surrounded by a crowd of tourists of various nationalities, local primary school teachers leading their little kids, a violinist paying a very, uh, freestyle rendition of Despacito and a dog sitter with exactly three beagles, four mixed race dogs, one golden retriever and one very puffy little dog that Lance is pretty sure it’s just a rat in disguise.

Your average day in Buenos Aires.

Keith is squinting up at the monument. If he’s trying to win a staring contest, Lance isn’t sure. The guy looks pretty pissed so he will  _ not  _ comment on this. It doesn’t matter it’s adorable. Or hilarious. Or whatever.

“I’m really craving an ice cream”  He says instead, a little bit to distract himself and a little bit to see if that breaks his friend’s concentration. Keith groans.

“I want dulce de leche ice cream. With crema americana, if possible” he says, still staring up. It’s starting to be a little disturbing. Lance tries to get his attention.

“Dude”

“What, Lance?” Wow, that sounds annoyed but not too annoyed. Good to go then.

“You are lactose intolerant, you should really cut down the ice cream” He says and he’s perfectly aware he’s toeing the line between teasing and provoking. Keith is  _ still staring up _ .

“I’m in a place with good ice cream” he says slowly, not even bothering to turn around “I’ll eat the damn ice cream”

Lance brings his arms up in surrender. But  _ of course _ Keith can’t see him.

“Dude” he calls again. Really, has Keith been possessed or something? Or half an evening underground has turned him into a sun-hating mole?

“What now, Lance?”

“Why are you looking at the monument as it’s personally offended you?” Keith finally turns his head at that, finally dignifies to look at Lance in the face. And Lance is surprised by how  _ determined  _  he looks.

“I’m trying to read the inscription” he says, still squinting “There are a few words I don’t know. And the sun is really bothering me”

Lance looks up. The phrase isn’t specially long or complicated.  A simple commemorative plaque. But then he glances at Keith and suddenly, he remembers his words from earlier and gets it.

“You do you, buddy” he flashes a smile and walks towards the crowd of tourists, trying to give him a little space. If Keith needs to read every damned sign in the city to learn spanish, then so be it. Lance won’t judge. 

*

It all happens in a few seconds.

He’s helping an old french lady named Lucille find a museum. It’s a mess, she’s shoving a map on his face while a clutter of middle aged men babble useless (and uniformed) suggestions. 

“NO!” someone suddenly screams.

Here’s the thing. Lance has heard lots of screaming in his life. Shouting that makes the blood in your heart boil, screeches that are so ridiculous that you can’t stop laughing. He’s heard it all. High pitched in a summer afternoon, low and hushed, slipping through the doorknob, the roller coaster and its chorus rising towards the skyes.

This is Keith’s voice. This is Keith’s grunting, this is Keith’s body slamming on the ground, in the millisecond of the moment when his backpack is swiftly snatched off his grasp. This is Keith’s stomach being hit by a final punch before the robber runs away.

Time doesn’t freeze, not in any way. Lance feels time drip, each second hitting against the pavement and feels it buzz through his veins when Keith looks up from the ground. His jaw is slack and his eyes are unfocused, desperate when he sees Lance.

“Took me off guard” he mutters, breathless. He was hit in the stomach. He was hit in the stomach and Lance can’t do anything else than stand there, watching “He took my backpack”

Time doesn’t freeze, but charges up, electricity running through Lance’s veins as he hears the words fallIng from Keith’s mouth.

“He took my backpack” Keith’s eyes are wide open and he’s never seen him so close to crying but everything about him seems glassy, breakable “My school books, Lance”

He takes off.

It’s a rush and he’s running and running and looking in between the kaleidoscope of people until he sees it. He sees the red backpack on someone’s hand, the robber’s hand.

“Hey!” He hears himself shout and it sounds like a roar, nothing like the voices slipping through doorknobs or the afternoon sun hitting against skin.

The robber’s eyes blow open, alarmed and runs faster.

“ _ Hey!” _ Lance repeats and his throat feels achy and his lungs are melting and he’s zigzagging through the crowd, trying not to lose him, because that’s Keith’s  _ backpack _ with his schoolbooks and he’s  _ failing _ and it’s important to him. 

Right. Left. Right again. People eating, chatting, celebrating. He dodges them, again and again and again while following the confusing blur of the robber and the backpack.

He runs and his legs are starting to hurt and he hasn’t ran this much since high school but he’s getting closer to the guy so he yells again, now in spanish, asking someone to stop him. That brings attention and the guy spots him but a few people are around him now and Lance is getting closer and he can see the exact moment the robber realises he’s surrounded.

Time doesn’t freeze but Lance could count the slow, slow seconds in which the backpack hits the pavement with a soundless thud and the robber’s off, lost within the crowd.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                          

A few people are asking him if he’s okay and he’s panting and wow, everything hurts but Keith’s backpack is now in his hands and that’s what matters.

Here it is. Here it is.

In a whirlwind, without really knowing where he is going, without really thinking, he’s turning around and running to Keith, looking for him in the crowd, eager to see his surprise at how Lance got his things, eager to see relief painting his features, to see how, how, how

He doesn’t really think where he is going — lets himself be driven to Keith like metal to a magnet, like a crab to a shell, like, like, like —-

Lance sees him, standing amongst the multitude.

Lance sees him, desperately looking around, his eyes open in a vulnerable, helpless expression —  _ that  _ shouldn’t be there, shouldn’t be _ Keith’s _ .

Lance sees him and wonders how many ways can Keith surprise him.

He’s spotted.

He lifts the backpack with one hand and smiles smiles  _ smiles _

“I’ve got it!” he screams, but it could very well be whispered from the way Keith’s shoulders relax, from the small smile he’s gifts—

(like nothing, like everything)

“Don’t worry” Lance says, getting closer “I’ve got it”

_ I’ve got you _ , his mind silently supplies. He’s too short of breath to shush it.

He hands the backpack over. Keith takes it, still smiling, and instead of hanging it on his back, like Lance expected him to, he hugs it close to his chest.

“Thank you” he says “I had all my school books in there and… yeah”

“Don’t mention it” Lance bats his hand at him, trying very hard not to stare .

Something is hanging in the air, the sheer fragility of a moment dancing in between their silences, the strange realization that, and even though the multitude surrounds them, there couldn’t be a more intimate moment.          

It’s thrilling and terrifying at the same time and Lance is too tired to hang onto it, too breathless to figure it out. So, he does what he years of living amongst a big family have taught him, he evades the subject.

“Anyway…” he says and he can see the  _ something _ slipping away, dancing with its quick, barefoot steps until it’s finally gone and only their usual familiarity its left.

“Anyway” Lance repeats, breaking into a grin “ I think it should be noted that it was _I_ who rescued your backpack and not you”

Keith stares, confused.

“Yes…?” he says, still holding the backpack in a tight grip against his chest. “I’ve literally just thanked you for that”

“I mean, it was  _ me _ and not  _ you _ ” 

“Are you trying to get somewhere?”

“Yes! That even when you are secretly super buff, it was  _ me _ , your so-called-lightweight, who rescued your backpack!”

And the unexpected, once again, happens. In the form of Keith completely  _ bursting _ into laughter.

“Hey!” Lance protests, a little offended. He has a pride, thank you very much.

“I-Im” Keith tries to say “I’m  _ so  _ sorry”

It isn’t really convincing, you know, since he’s still laughing.

“Well!” Lance puffs his chest “You should!”

That only makes Keith laugh  _ more _ .

“Hey!”  _ Oh my god _ . How many surprises can Lance take today, he doesn’t know. “Keith!”

The other tries to sober up, covering his mouth with one hand.

“Okay, I’m done! I’m sorry!” Keith says between his fingers, without looking directly to Lance’s eyes. This is seriously so strange. This day is so  _ weird _ already “I just think it’s pretty funny how you are still hanging to that” 

He scrunches up his nose, now more serious. 

“And I think I might still be a little adrenaline-ridden from the whole being robbed ordeal”

Lance’s pride is officially wounded. Cool cool cool

“I’m not hanging onto that!” he squeaks, trying to helplessly salvage, uh, his reputation. Or something. 

He gets the feeling Keith is smirking behind his fingers.

“Why would you bring it up, then?” 

“You called me a lightweight!” Lance doesn’t know how his voice sounds and he’s not sure he wants to. Keith, hand back again hugging the backpack, frowns.

“I didn’t”

“You  _ so _ did” Lance retorts, perfectly aware of how childish he sounds. Who cares, when this is familiar and comfortable and Keith’s frown just gets deeper.

“No! You asked me if I could carry you and-” Lance doesn’t let Keith finish.

“ _ I didn’t ask you that _ !” He sputters.

Keith open his mouth to answer. Then closes it. It reminds Lance of a blowfish he saw once, at his hometown’s aquarium.

They stare at each other. 

And there it is. There it is. Lance feels it as it bubbles inside of him, can see Keith’s eyes crinkle around the edges in amusement, watches him biting his lip and he knows, he knows it’s just a mirror of his own expression, threatening to burst and—

They are laughing and laughing and it’s such a ridiculous argument but here they are, brushing it off, and Keith’s expression is  _ so _ ridiculous and Lance keeps finding himself surprised by the way he laughs, the open smile he gifts, the glow of daylight on his loose hair.

Even though the ground is trembling under his feet, Lance won’t let surprise overthrow him.

_ Yet _

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you know what's coming? DO YOU HAVE AN IDEA OF WHAT'S COMING?  
> *chants* mercedes arc mercedes arc mercedes arC!!!!!!!!  
> It's a three chapter arc that will start in ch8 that i've been planning since the very very beggining and i'm SO pumped to write! So please, even though the series is ending earlier than this fic, stick with me! THIS IS GOING TO BE SO FUN!!! I'M SO PUMPED!!!!!  
> On other news **i'm considering illustrating parts of the fic and/or attaching pictures of the places they visit.** Would you like that? Would it be helpful?  
>  Anyhow, all the places here are googlable and visit-able. Yeah, even the catacombs! (You won't get lost though, they are way more guarded than that).  
> As it couldn't be different, snarky tired Federico is one of my friends irl. He's studying all sciencey stuff but he's worked a thousand odd jobs. Figured he'd be the one in charge of Buenos Aires Free Tours For Nighmare Tourists.  
> Thank you SO much for sticking around and if you can comment, that'd be super appreciated! <3  
> YOUR LOVELY COMMENTS PUMP ME UP!
> 
> * * *
> 
> [ ''The Colour of Hope'' Spotify Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/aimeejene/playlist/67C1F04nlS1PvjdtjrwKxK)

**Author's Note:**

> [''The Colour Of Hope'' Spotify Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/aimeejene/playlist/67C1F04nlS1PvjdtjrwKxK) CHECK IT OUT!


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